Amazon.com: John McAfee’s Last Stand (Kindle Single) eBook …

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Amazon.com: John McAfee’s Last Stand (Kindle Single) eBook …

JOHN MCAFEE: I’ll decrypt the San Bernardino phone free of …

Antivirus software founder John McAfee in Miami Beach, Florida.AP/Alan DiazCybersecurity expert John McAfee is running for president in the US as a member of the Libertarian Party. This is an op-ed article he wrote and gave us permission to run.

Using an obscure law, written in 1789 the All Writs Act the US government has ordered Apple to place a back door into its iOS software so the FBI can decrypt information on an iPhone used by one of the San Bernardino shooters.

It has finally come to this. After years of arguments by virtually every industry specialist that back doors will be a bigger boon to hackers and to our nation’s enemies than publishing our nuclear codes and giving the keys to all of our military weapons to the Russians and the Chinese, our government has chosen, once again, not to listen to the minds that have created the glue that holds this world together.

This is a black day and the beginning of the end of the US as a world power. The government has ordered a disarmament of our already ancient cybersecurity and cyberdefense systems, and it is asking us to take a walk into that near horizon where cyberwar is unquestionably waiting, with nothing more than harsh words as a weapon and the hope that our enemies will take pity at our unarmed condition and treat us fairly.

Any student of world history will tell you that this is a dream. Would Hitler have stopped invading Poland if the Polish people had sweetly asked him not to do so? Those who think yes should stand strongly by Hillary Clinton’s side, whose cybersecurity platform includes negotiating with the Chinese so they will no longer launch cyberattacks against us.

The FBI, in a laughable and bizarre twist of logic, said the back door would be used only once and only in the San Bernardino case.

Tim Cook, CEO of Apple, replied:

The government suggests this tool could only be used once, on one phone. But that’s simply not true. Once created, the technique could be used over and over again, on any number of devices. In the physical world, it would be the equivalent of a master key, capable of opening hundreds of millions of locks from restaurants and banks to stores and homes. No reasonable person would find that acceptable.

The government is asking Apple to hack our own users and undermine decades of security advancements that protect our customers including tens of millions of American citizens from sophisticated hackers and cybercriminals. The same engineers who built strong encryption into the iPhone to protect our users would, ironically, be ordered to weaken those protections and make our users less safe.

AP

No matter how you slice this pie, if the government succeeds in getting this back door, it will eventually get a back door into all encryption, and our world, as we know it, is over. In spite of the FBI’s claim that it would protect the back door, we all know that’s impossible. There are bad apples everywhere, and there only needs to be in the US government. Then a few million dollars, some beautiful women (or men), and a yacht trip to the Caribbean might be all it takes for our enemies to have full access to our secrets.

Cook said:

The FBI may use different words to describe this tool, but make no mistake: Building a version of iOS that bypasses security in this way would undeniably create a backdoor. And while the government may argue that its use would be limited to this case, there is no way to guarantee such control.

The fundamental question is this: Why can’t the FBI crack the encryption on its own? It has the full resources of the best the US government can provide.

With all due respect to Tim Cook and Apple, I work with a team of the best hackers on the planet. These hackers attend Defcon in Las Vegas, and they are legends in their local hacking groups, such as HackMiami. They are all prodigies, with talents that defy normal human comprehension. About 75% are social engineers. The remainder are hardcore coders. I would eat my shoe on the Neil Cavuto show if we could not break the encryption on the San Bernardino phone. This is a pure and simple fact.

And why do the best hackers on the planet not work for the FBI? Because the FBI will not hire anyone with a 24-inch purple mohawk, 10-gauge ear piercings, and a tattooed face who demands to smoke weed while working and won’t work for less than a half-million dollars a year. But you bet your ass that the Chinese and Russians are hiring similar people with similar demands and have been for many years. It’s why we are decades behind in the cyber race.

Participants in the 28th Chaos Communication Congress computer-hacker conference in 2011 in Berlin. Adam Berry/Getty Images

Cyberscience is not just something you can learn. It is an innate talent. The Juilliard School of Music cannot create a Mozart. A Mozart or a Bach, much like our modern hacking community, is genetically created. A room full of Stanford computer science graduates cannot compete with a true hacker without even a high-school education.

So here is my offer to the FBI. I will, free of charge, decrypt the information on the San Bernardino phone, with my team. We will primarily use social engineering, and it will take us three weeks. If you accept my offer, then you will not need to ask Apple to place a back door in its product, which will be the beginning of the end of America.

If you doubt my credentials, Google “cybersecurity legend” and see whose name is the only name that appears in the first 10 results out of more than a quarter of a million.

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JOHN MCAFEE: I’ll decrypt the San Bernardino phone free of …

Amazon.com: John McAfee’s Last Stand (Kindle Single) eBook …

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Amazon.com: John McAfee’s Last Stand (Kindle Single) eBook …

The McAfee guide to uninstalling McAfee Antivirus | John …

Theres days when I see despicable, disgusting shit like this and realize that my 10 years I spent working for a huge corporation would have been much more fun had I worked for John instead, if only my manager knew the proper straw for bath salts, if he had a magical collection of self spawning guns, I might have just, maybepossibly not wasted 10 years of my life..what a shit showanyways, that was like watching a train plow into a huge chicken coop full of babies, I couldnt stop watching, and when it was over, I couldnt stop laughing.

Today WAS a crappy day, today sucked..until I watched that, thanks John, I needed that, your a sick man, I love it when I see someone act out the shit that goes on in my head.

Jason (still trapped in corporate hell, just a smaller corporate hell for 1/2 the money)

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The McAfee guide to uninstalling McAfee Antivirus | John …

Amazon.com: John McAfee’s Last Stand (Kindle Single) eBook …

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Amazon.com: John McAfee’s Last Stand (Kindle Single) eBook …

John McAfee: I keep a gun in my hand while showering …

John McAfee, who made a fortune developing antivirus software, revealed on Twitter that he is always armed to the teeth, even in bed.

John McAfee, who made a fortune developing antivirus software, revealed on Twitter that he is always armed to the teeth, even in bed.

A deceptively tranquil view in front of John McAfee’s former compound in Belize. Photo: Martin Savidge/CNN via McAfee Security UK.org.

A deceptively tranquil view in front of John McAfee’s former compound in Belize. Photo: Martin Savidge/CNN via McAfee Security UK.org.

Photo: Todd J. Van Emst, Associated Press

John McAfee, who made a fortune developing antivirus software, revealed on Twitter that he is always armed to the teeth, even in bed.

John McAfee, who made a fortune developing antivirus software, revealed on Twitter that he is always armed to the teeth, even in bed.

John McAfee: I keep a gun in my hand while showering, sitting on toilet

John McAfeewants you to know that he never goes anywhere unarmed.

The controversial tech mogul, who claims to have been targeted by numerous bad actors in the past, is protected around the clock by his own security team, but should they be comprised, he’d be more than ready.

In a Twitter post this week, he revealed just how ready.

His sidearm never leaves his hand, he wrote.

Not when he sleeps. Not in the shower. Not when he’s sitting on the toilet. Not even when he makes love.

“Puts a kink in foreplay but some women love it.”

My sidearm is with me 24/7. More: my sidearm is ALWAYS in my hand when I’m on the toilet, sleeping and making love. Puts a kink in foreplay but some women love it. Accidental discharge? No. Some intentional when idiots tried to rush me. 2 women spontaneously orgasmed. Go figure. pic.twitter.com/LuLvdSuMka

And in a follow-up tweet, he shared that the Glock in the photo was just part of his on-person arsenal:

“I carry three sidearms. Hip, shoulder, ankle,” he said.

Why pack so much firepower? Well, because a lot folks are out to get him, he says the U.S. government, violent cartels, corrupt Belizean officials, food poisoners and “six women” who tried to shoot him.

In the last few months, the cybersecurity pioneer and cryptocurrency evangelist has claimed to be on the run from Securities and Exchange Commission, which forced him into hiding. His life was in danger, he said.

Then again, it always seems to be in danger.

Irrational??? Google me. On the run in the Belizean jungle for weeks while 17,000 armed men were trying to kill me. Assistant Prime Minister of Belize hired hitman Eddie McKoy to kill me. Five failed attempts by the Sinaloa Cartel. 6 different women tried to shoot me. Google me.

In June, he was hospitalized. A photo showed him lying in bed with tubes sprouting out of his body. Something he ate, drank or inhaled was spiked with poison by “incompetent enemies,” he said.

He has previously maintained that violent cartels have attempted to kidnap him on several occasions over the last few years, most recently in September. The cartels want to abduct him, he said, because of his connection to the murder of his neighbor in Belize in 2012. (He was a “person of interest” in the investigation.)

When he escaped from Belize to Guatemala, he says he was chased through the jungle by “17,000 armed men.”

It’s worth noting that the entire armed forces of Belize number 2,100 personnel.

Naturally, McAfee’s tweets prompted a flurry of comments. Here are a few:

Disagree. The Remington 870 SP Marine Magnum is peak shower performance. pic.twitter.com/uB06QwQdNt

Gonna shoot him through Twitter?

My wife always says accidental discharge doesnt matter and it happens to everyone

Thank you for your support:)

Only six women have tried to shoot you???!!!!

we are truly blessed to live in the timeline where McAfee turned into a Cyberpunk 2020 character

Read Mike Moffitt’s latest stories and send him news tips atmmoffitt@sfchronicle.com.

Start receiving breaking news emails on wildfires, civil emergencies, riots, national breaking news, Amber Alerts, weather emergencies, and other critical events with the SFGATE breaking news email.Click here to make sure you get the news.

Read more from the original source:

John McAfee: I keep a gun in my hand while showering …

John McAfee: I keep a gun in my hand while showering, sitting …

John McAfee, who made a fortune developing antivirus software, revealed on Twitter that he is always armed to the teeth, even in bed.

John McAfee, who made a fortune developing antivirus software, revealed on Twitter that he is always armed to the teeth, even in bed.

A deceptively tranquil view in front of John McAfee’s former compound in Belize. Photo: Martin Savidge/CNN via McAfee Security UK.org.

A deceptively tranquil view in front of John McAfee’s former compound in Belize. Photo: Martin Savidge/CNN via McAfee Security UK.org.

Photo: Todd J. Van Emst, Associated Press

John McAfee, who made a fortune developing antivirus software, revealed on Twitter that he is always armed to the teeth, even in bed.

John McAfee, who made a fortune developing antivirus software, revealed on Twitter that he is always armed to the teeth, even in bed.

John McAfee: I keep a gun in my hand while showering, sitting on toilet

John McAfeewants you to know that he never goes anywhere unarmed.

The controversial tech mogul, who claims to have been targeted by numerous bad actors in the past, is protected around the clock by his own security team, but should they be comprised, he’d be more than ready.

In a Twitter post this week, he revealed just how ready.

His sidearm never leaves his hand, he wrote.

Not when he sleeps. Not in the shower. Not when he’s sitting on the toilet. Not even when he makes love.

“Puts a kink in foreplay but some women love it.”

My sidearm is with me 24/7. More: my sidearm is ALWAYS in my hand when I’m on the toilet, sleeping and making love. Puts a kink in foreplay but some women love it. Accidental discharge? No. Some intentional when idiots tried to rush me. 2 women spontaneously orgasmed. Go figure. pic.twitter.com/LuLvdSuMka

And in a follow-up tweet, he shared that the Glock in the photo was just part of his on-person arsenal:

“I carry three sidearms. Hip, shoulder, ankle,” he said.

Why pack so much firepower? Well, because a lot folks are out to get him, he says the U.S. government, violent cartels, corrupt Belizean officials, food poisoners and “six women” who tried to shoot him.

In the last few months, the cybersecurity pioneer and cryptocurrency evangelist has claimed to be on the run from Securities and Exchange Commission, which forced him into hiding. His life was in danger, he said.

Then again, it always seems to be in danger.

Irrational??? Google me. On the run in the Belizean jungle for weeks while 17,000 armed men were trying to kill me. Assistant Prime Minister of Belize hired hitman Eddie McKoy to kill me. Five failed attempts by the Sinaloa Cartel. 6 different women tried to shoot me. Google me.

In June, he was hospitalized. A photo showed him lying in bed with tubes sprouting out of his body. Something he ate, drank or inhaled was spiked with poison by “incompetent enemies,” he said.

He has previously maintained that violent cartels have attempted to kidnap him on several occasions over the last few years, most recently in September. The cartels want to abduct him, he said, because of his connection to the murder of his neighbor in Belize in 2012. (He was a “person of interest” in the investigation.)

When he escaped from Belize to Guatemala, he says he was chased through the jungle by “17,000 armed men.”

It’s worth noting that the entire armed forces of Belize number 2,100 personnel.

Naturally, McAfee’s tweets prompted a flurry of comments. Here are a few:

Disagree. The Remington 870 SP Marine Magnum is peak shower performance. pic.twitter.com/uB06QwQdNt

Gonna shoot him through Twitter?

My wife always says accidental discharge doesnt matter and it happens to everyone

Thank you for your support:)

Only six women have tried to shoot you???!!!!

we are truly blessed to live in the timeline where McAfee turned into a Cyberpunk 2020 character

Read Mike Moffitt’s latest stories and send him news tips atmmoffitt@sfchronicle.com.

Start receiving breaking news emails on wildfires, civil emergencies, riots, national breaking news, Amber Alerts, weather emergencies, and other critical events with the SFGATE breaking news email.Click here to make sure you get the news.

Link:

John McAfee: I keep a gun in my hand while showering, sitting …

John McAfee Boldly Predicts Bitcoin Will Surpass $15,000 Next …

/latest/2018/05/john-mcafee-boldly-predicts-bitcoin-will-surpass-15000-next-month/

According to a statement made on Twitter, John McAfee has made strong predictions that Bitcoin will excel beyond the $15,000 range by June. While these are short-term predictions, McAfee remains a strong source on cryptocurrency valuations and their performance.

In his statement, McAfee states that this is a ‘special time’ and rarely makes short-term predictions on investment areas.

“I seldom make short-term predictions because they are frequently meaningless and they encourage short-term investors, which in turn encourages mediocrity. But this is a special time.”

The reliability of McAfee’s predictions is maintained by his algorithms which, according to him, have never been wrong. McAfee has notably also predicted that bitcoins price will hit $1 million in 2020.

If McAfee is correct, bitcoins price is set to more than double in little time, as the flagship cryptocurrency is currently trading at $7,489 according to data from CryptoCompare.

Along with Bitcoin, the eccentric cybersecurity pioneer expects altcoins to make substantial gains between June and August. With Bitcoin Private (BTCP), a merge-fork of bitcoin with ZCash surpassing $200, and EOS surging to reach $32 by the end of July.

Its worth noting that the cybersecurity pioneer, as covered by CryptoGlobe, has in the past revealed he is bullish on Bitcoin Private, as he stated the cryptocurrency is set to replace Monero (XMR) as the number one cryptocurrency being used on the dark web.

The eccentric millionaire has pumped various cryptocurrencies in the past with Verge (XVG) surging after he claimed to be more bullish on it than on Zcash or Monero. Its worth noting he also pumped various cryptocurrencies after being paid to do so, as he was running a service that charged $105,000 per tweet.

McAfee has also stated that this strong bullish trend is attributed to a significant rise in institutional demand. In a tweet published earlier this week, he stated that major long-term investors will begin surging behind Bitcoin and various altcoins.

Institutional investors are preparing to enter the cryptocurrency market with a vengeance. They are generally long-term investors and will be pumping billions into the market. Expect the top ten coins to go through the roof fairly quickly. The bulk of altcoins will soon follow.

Featured image by Gage Skidmore, Flickr, CC by 2.0

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John McAfee Boldly Predicts Bitcoin Will Surpass $15,000 Next …

John McAfee Boldly Predicts Bitcoin Will Surpass $15,000 Next …

/latest/2018/05/john-mcafee-boldly-predicts-bitcoin-will-surpass-15000-next-month/

According to a statement made on Twitter, John McAfee has made strong predictions that Bitcoin will excel beyond the $15,000 range by June. While these are short-term predictions, McAfee remains a strong source on cryptocurrency valuations and their performance.

In his statement, McAfee states that this is a ‘special time’ and rarely makes short-term predictions on investment areas.

“I seldom make short-term predictions because they are frequently meaningless and they encourage short-term investors, which in turn encourages mediocrity. But this is a special time.”

The reliability of McAfee’s predictions is maintained by his algorithms which, according to him, have never been wrong. McAfee has notably also predicted that bitcoins price will hit $1 million in 2020.

If McAfee is correct, bitcoins price is set to more than double in little time, as the flagship cryptocurrency is currently trading at $7,489 according to data from CryptoCompare.

Along with Bitcoin, the eccentric cybersecurity pioneer expects altcoins to make substantial gains between June and August. With Bitcoin Private (BTCP), a merge-fork of bitcoin with ZCash surpassing $200, and EOS surging to reach $32 by the end of July.

Its worth noting that the cybersecurity pioneer, as covered by CryptoGlobe, has in the past revealed he is bullish on Bitcoin Private, as he stated the cryptocurrency is set to replace Monero (XMR) as the number one cryptocurrency being used on the dark web.

The eccentric millionaire has pumped various cryptocurrencies in the past with Verge (XVG) surging after he claimed to be more bullish on it than on Zcash or Monero. Its worth noting he also pumped various cryptocurrencies after being paid to do so, as he was running a service that charged $105,000 per tweet.

McAfee has also stated that this strong bullish trend is attributed to a significant rise in institutional demand. In a tweet published earlier this week, he stated that major long-term investors will begin surging behind Bitcoin and various altcoins.

Institutional investors are preparing to enter the cryptocurrency market with a vengeance. They are generally long-term investors and will be pumping billions into the market. Expect the top ten coins to go through the roof fairly quickly. The bulk of altcoins will soon follow.

Featured image by Gage Skidmore, Flickr, CC by 2.0

See the article here:

John McAfee Boldly Predicts Bitcoin Will Surpass $15,000 Next …

Teen hacks John McAfee’s ‘unhackable’ crypto-baby to play …

GEORGE OF THE SILICON JUNGLE John McAfee has a bit of explaining to do. After we reported last week that his unhackable’ Bitfiwallet had been hacked, within a week, we can now report on one of our favourite types of story.

For those that have followed us over the years, the “things being modded to run things they weren’t supposed to run” category always fills us with glee.

In that spirit, we present the Bitfi running Doom. As programmed by a 15-year-old.

Saleem Rashid, admittedly a bit of a prodigy by all accounts, responded to someone joking thatMcAfee’s bitcoin wallet would be running Doom by that weekend.

Rashid went one stage further and did it. By that weekend. And if you don’t believe us, here’s the video:

There’s a $250,000 bounty for anyone successfully hacking the Android-powered fortress, but that doesn’t seem to be as simple as we thought. During the hack, Baidu apps with tracking were found hidden in the firmware begging questions as to why.

Some complete partitions of code are also available from Pastebin, thanks to enterprising coders, while some security experts are suggesting that the only reason they haven’t taken the wallet down yet is out of well politeness.

John McAfee and Bitfi are yet to respond to either hack, aside from quoting an interview which points out that, although hacked, nobody had hacked it to the point of stealing any Bitcoins. Which is a fair point and suggests that’s what McAfee may be counting as “hacked”. But having come this far, surely we’re now just clockwatching until someone succeeds.

Prove us wrong, Wildman. Prove us wrong. Because by all accounts, the attack on Bitfi by white-hats is a matter of days away.

Read the rest here:

Teen hacks John McAfee’s ‘unhackable’ crypto-baby to play …

John McAfee Fled to Belize, But He Couldnt … – WIRED

On November 12, 2012, Belizean police announced that they were seeking John McAfee for questioning in connection with the murder of his neighbor. Six months earlier, I began an in-depth investigation into McAfee’s life. This is the chronicle of that investigation.

Twelve weeks before the murder, John McAfee flicks open the cylinder of his Smith & Wesson revolver and empties the bullets, letting them clatter onto the table between us. A few tumble to the floor. McAfee is 66, lean and fit, with veins bulging out of his forearms. His hair is bleached blond in patches, like a cheetah, and tattoos wrap around his arms and shoulders.

More than 25 years ago, he formed McAfee Associates, a maker of antivirus software that went on to become immensely popular and was acquired by Intel in 2010 for $7.68 billion. Now he’s holed up in a bungalow on his island estate, about 15 miles off the coast of mainland Belize. The shades are drawn so I can see only a sliver of the white sand beach and turquoise water outside. The table is piled with boxes of ammunition, fake IDs bearing his photo, Frontiersman bear deterrent, and a single blue baby pacifier.

– Better Than Human

McAfee picks a bullet off the floor and fixes me with a wide-eyed, manic intensity. “This is a bullet, right?” he says in the congenial Southern accent that has stuck with him since his boyhood in Virginia.

“Let’s put the gun back,” I tell him. I’d come here to try to understand why the government of Belize was accusing him of assembling a private army and entering the drug trade. It seemed implausible that a wildly successful tech entrepreneur would disappear into the Central American jungle and become a narco-trafficker. Now I’m not so sure.

But he explains that the accusations are a fabrication. “Maybe what happened didn’t actually happen,” he says, staring hard at me. “Can I do a demonstration?”

He loads the bullet into the gleaming silver revolver, spins the cylinder.

“This scares you, right?” he says. Then he puts the gun to his head.

My heart rate kicks up; it takes me a second to respond. “Yeah, I’m scared,” I admit. “We don’t have to do this.”

“I know we don’t,” he says, the muzzle pressed against his temple. And then he pulls the trigger. Nothing happens. He pulls it three more times in rapid succession. There are only five chambers.

“Reholster the gun,” I demand.

He keeps his eyes fixed on me and pulls the trigger a fifth time. Still nothing. With the gun still to his head, he starts pulling the trigger incessantly. “I can do this all day long,” he says to the sound of the hammer clicking. “I can do this a thousand times. Ten thousand times. Nothing will ever happen. Why? Because you have missed something. You are operating on an assumption about reality that is wrong.”

It’s the same thing, he argues, with the government’s accusations. They were a smoke screenan attempt to distort realitybut there’s one thing everybody agrees on: The trouble really got rolling in the humid predawn murk of April 30, 2012.

It was a Monday, about 4:50 am. A television flickered in the guard station of McAfee’s newly built, 2.5-acre jungle outpost on the Belizean mainland. At the far end of the property, a muddy river flowed slowly past. Crocodiles lurked on the opposite bank, and howler monkeys screeched. In the guard station, a drunk night watchman gaped at Blond Ambition, a Madonna concert DVD.

The guard heard the trucks first. Then boots hitting the ground and the gate rattling as the lock was snapped with bolt cutters. He stood up and looked outside. Dozens of men in green camouflage were streaming into the compound. Many were members of Belize’s Gang Suppression Unit, an elite force trained in part by the FBI and armed with Taurus MT-9 submachine guns. Formed in 2010, their mission was to dismantle criminal organizations.

The guard observed the scene silently for a moment and then sat back down. After all, the Madonna concert wasn’t over yet. Outside, flashlight beams streaked across the property. “This is the police,” a voice blared over a bullhorn. “Everyone out!”

Deep in the compound, McAfee burst out of a thatched-roof bungalow that stood on stilts 20 feet off the ground. He was naked and held a revolver. Things had changed since his days as a high-flying software tycoon. By 2009 he had sold almost everything he ownedestates in Hawaii, Colorado, New Mexico, and Texas as well as his 10-passenger planeand moved into the jungle. He announced that he was searching for natural antibiotics in the rain forest and constructed a mysterious laboratory on his property. Now his jungle stronghold was under attack. The commandos were converging on him. There were 31 of them; he was outgunned and outmanned.

McAfee walked back inside to the 17-year-old in his bed. She was sitting up, naked, her long frizzy hair falling around her shoulders and framing the stars tattooed on her chest. She was terrified.

As the GSU stormed up the stairs, he put on some shorts, laid down his gun, and walked out with his hands up. The commandos collided with McAfee at the top of the stairs, slammed him against the wall, and handcuffed him.

“You’re being detained on suspicion of producing methamphetamine,” one of the cops said.

McAfee twisted to look at his accuser. “That’s a startling hypothesis, sir,” he responded. “Because I haven’t sold drugs since 1983.”

BRIAN FINKE

Nineteen eighty-three was a pivotal year for McAfee. He was 38 and director of engineering at Omex, a company that built information storage systems in Santa Clara, California. He was also selling cocaine to his subordinates and snorting massive amounts himself. When he got too high to focus, he’d take a quaalude. If he started to fall asleep at his desk, he’d snort some more coke to wake up. McAfee had trouble making it through the day and spent his afternoons drinking scotch to even out the tumult in his head.

He’d been a mess for a long time. He grew up in Roanoke, Virginia, where his father was a road surveyor and his mother a bank teller. His father, McAfee recalls, was a heavy drinker and “a very unhappy man” who McAfee says beat him and his mother severely. When McAfee was 15, his father shot himself. “Every day I wake up with him,” McAfee says. “Every relationship I have, he’s by my side; every mistrust, he is the negotiator of that mistrust. So my life is fucked.”

McAfee started drinking heavily his first year at Roanoke College and supported himself by selling magazine subscriptions door-to-door. He would knock and announce that the lucky resident had won an absolutely free subscription; all they had to do was pay a small shipping and handling fee. “So, in fact, I am explaining to them why it’s not free and why they are going to pay for it. But the ruse worked,” McAfee recalls. He learned that confidence was all that mattered. He smiled, fixed them with his penetrating blue-eyed gaze, and hit them with a nonstop stream of patter. “I made a fortune,” he says.

He spent his money on booze but managed to graduate and start a PhD in mathematics at Northeast Louisiana State College in 1968. He got kicked out for sleeping with one of his undergraduate students (whom he later married) and ended up coding old-school punch-card programs for Univac in Bristol, Tennessee. That didn’t last long, either. He was arrested for buying marijuana, and though his lawyer got him off without a conviction, he was summarily fired.

Still, he had learned enough to gin up an impressive, totally fake rsum and used it to get a job at Missouri Pacific Railroad in St. Louis. It was 1969 and the company was attempting to use an IBM computer to schedule trains. After six months, McAfee’s system began to churn out optimized train-routing patterns. Unfortunately, he had also discovered LSD. He would drop acid in the morning, go to work, and route trains all day. One morning he decided to experiment with another psychedelic called DMT. He did a line, felt nothing, and decided to snort a whole bag of the orangish powder. “Within an hour my mind was shattered,” McAfee says.

People asked him questions, but he didn’t understand what they were saying. The computer was spitting out train schedules to the moon; he couldn’t make sense of it. He ended up behind a garbage can in downtown St. Louis, hearing voices and desperately hoping that nobody would look at him. He never went back to Missouri Pacific. Part of him believes he’s still on that trip, that everything since has been one giant hallucination and that one day he’ll snap out of it and find himself back on his couch in St. Louis, listening to Pink Floyd’s Dark Side of the Moon.

From then on he felt like he was always one step away from a total breakdown, which finally came at Omex in 1983. He was snorting lines of coke off his desk most mornings, polishing off a bottle of scotch every day, and living in constant fear that he would run out of drugs. His wife had left him, he’d given away his dog, and in the wake of what he calls a mutual agreement, he left Omex. He ended up shuttered in his house, with no friends, doing drugs alone for days on end and wondering whether he should kill himself just as his father had. “My life was total hell,” he says.

Finally he went to a therapist, who suggested he go to Alcoholics Anonymous. He attended a meeting and started sobbing. Someone gave him a hug and told him he wasn’t alone.

“That’s when life really began for me,” he says.

He says he’s been sober ever since.

When the Madonna concert ended, McAfee’s drunken guard finally emerged from his station and strolled over to find out what was going on. The police quickly surrounded him. They knew who he was: Austin “Tino” Allen had been convicted 28 times for crimes ranging from robbery to assault, and he had spent most of his life in and out of prison.

The police lined everybody up against a rock wall as the sun rose. A low, heavy heat filled the jungle. Everybody began to sweat when the police fanned out to search the property. As an officer headed toward an outlying building, one of McAfee’s dogs cut him off, growled, and, according to police, went in for an attack. The cop immediately shot the dog through the rib cage.

“What the fuck!” McAfee screamed. “That’s my dog.”

The police ignored him. They left the dead dog in the dirt while they rummaged through the compound. They found shotguns, pistols, a huge cache of ammunition, and hundreds of bottles of chemicals they couldn’t identify. McAfee and the others were left in the sun for hours. (GSU commander Marco Vidal claims they were under the shade of a large tree.) By the time the police announced that they were taking several of them to jail, McAfee says his face was turning pink with sunburn. He and Allen were loaded into the back of a pickup. The truck tore off, heading southeast toward Belize City at 80 miles per hour.

McAfee tried to stay calm, but he had to admit that this was a bad situation. He had walked away from a luxurious lifemansions on multiple continents, sports cars, a private planeonly to end up in the back of a pickup cuffed to a notoriously violent man. Allen pulled McAfee close so he could be heard over the roar of the wind. McAfee tensed. “Boss, I just want to say that it’s an honor to be here with you,” Allen shouted. “You must be a really important person for them to send all these men to get you.”

In 1986 two brothers in Pakistan coded the first known computer virus aimed at PCs. They weren’t trying to destroy anything; it was simple curiosity. They wanted to see how far their creation would travel, so they included their names, addresses, and telephone numbers in the code of the virus. They named it Brain after their computer services shop in Lahore.

Within a year the phone at the shop was ringing: Brain had infected computers around the world. At the time, McAfee had been sober for four years and gotten a security clearance to work on a classified voice-recognition program at Lockheed in Sunnyvale, California. But then he came across an article in the San Jose Mercury News about the spread of the Pakistani Brain virus in the US.

He found the idea terrifying. Nobody knew for sure at the time why these intrusions were occurring. It reminded him of his childhood, when his father would hit him for no reason. “I didn’t know why he did it,” McAfee says. “I just knew a beating could happen any time.” As a boy, he wasn’t able to fight back. Now, faced with a new form of attack that was hard to rationalize, he decided to do something.

He started McAfee Associates out of his 700-square-foot home in Santa Clara. His business plan: Create an antivirus program and give it away on electronic bulletin boards. McAfee didn’t expect users to pay. His real aim was to get them to think the software was so necessary that they would install it on their computers at work. They did. Within five years, half of the Fortune 100 companies were running it, and they felt compelled to pay a license fee. By 1990, McAfee was making $5 million a year with very little overhead or investment.

His success was due in part to his ability to spread his own paranoia, the fear that there was always somebody about to attack. Soon after launching his company, he bought a 27-foot Winnebago, loaded it with computers, and announced that he had formed the first “antivirus paramedic unit.” When he got a call from someone experiencing computer problems in the San Jose area, he drove to the site and searched for “virus residue.” Like a good door-to-door salesman, there was a kernel of truth to his pitch, but he amplified and embellished the facts to sell his product. The RV therefore was not just an RV; it was “the first specially customized unit to wage effective, on-the-spot counterattacks in the virus war.”

It was great publicity, executed with drama and sly wit. By the end of 1988, he was on The MacNeil/Lehrer NewsHour telling the country that viruses were causing so much damage, some companies were “near collapse from financial loss.” He underscored the danger with his 1989 book, Computer Viruses, Worms, Data Diddlers, Killer Programs, and Other Threats to Your System. “The reality is so alarming that it would be very difficult to exaggerate,” he wrote. “Even if no new viruses are ever created, there are already enough circulating to cause a growing problem as they reproduce. A major disaster seems inevitable.”

In 1992 McAfee told almost every major news network and newspaper that the recently discovered Michelangelo virus was a huge threat; he believed it could destroy as many as 5 million computers around the world. Sales of his software spiked, but in the end only tens of thousands of infections were reported. Though McAfee was roundly criticized for his proclamation, the criticism worked in his favor, as he explained in an email in 2000 to a computer-security blogger: “My business increased tenfold in the two months following the stories and six months later our revenues were 50 times greater and we had captured the lion’s share of the anti-virus market.”

This ability to infect others with his own paranoia made McAfee a wealthy man. In October 1992 his company debuted on Nasdaq, and his shares were suddenly worth $80 million.

The jail cell was about 10 feet by 10 feet. The concrete floor was bare and cold, the smell of urine overpowering. A plastic milk container in the corner had been hacked open and was serving as a toilet. The detention center was located in the Queen Street police station, but everybody in Belize City called it the Pisshouse. In the shadows of his cell, McAfee could see the other inmates staring at him.

No charges had been filed yet, though the police had confiscated what they said were two unlicensed firearms on McAfee’s property; they still couldn’t identify the chemicals they had found. McAfee said he had licenses for all his firearms and explained that the chemicals were part of his antibiotic research. The police weren’t buying it.

McAfee pulled 20 Belizean dollars out of his shoe and passed it through the bars to a guard. “You got a cigarette?” he asked.

McAfee hadn’t smoked for 10 years, but this seemed like a good time to start again. The guard handed him a book of matches and a pack of Benson & Hedges. McAfee lit one and took a deep drag. He was supposed to be living out a peaceful retirement in a tropical paradise. Now he was standing in jail, holding up his pants with one hand because the police had confiscated his belt. “Use this,” Allen said, offering him a dirty plastic bag.

McAfee looked confused. “You tie your pants,” Allen explained.

McAfee fed the bag through two of his belt loops, cinched it tight, and tied a knot. It worked.

“Welcome to the Pisshouse,” Allen said, smiling.

McAfee lived in Silicon Valley for nearly 20 years. Outwardly he seemed to lead a traditional life with his second wife, Judy. He was a seasoned businessman whom startups turned to for advice. Stanford Graduate School of Business wrote two case studies highlighting his strategies. He was regularly invited to lecture at the school, and he was awarded an honorary doctorate from his alma mater, Roanoke College. In 2000 he started a yoga institute near his 10,000-square-foot mansion in the Colorado Rockies and wrote four books about spirituality. Even after his marriage fell apart in 2002, he was a respectable citizen who donated computers to schools and took out newspaper ads discouraging drug use.

But as he neared retirement age in the late 2000s, he started to feel like he was deluding himself. His properties, cars, and planes had become a burden, and he realized that he didn’t want the traditional rich man’s life anymore. Maintaining so many possessions was a constant distraction; it was time, he felt, to try to live more rustically. “John has always been searching for something,” says Jennifer Irwin, McAfee’s girlfriend at the time. She remembers him telling her once that he was trying to reach “the expansive horizon.”

He was also hurting financially. The economic collapse in 2008 hit him hard, and he couldn’t afford to maintain his lifestyle. By 2009 he’d auctioned off almost everything he owned, including more than 1,000 acres of land in Hawaii and the private airport he’d built in New Mexico. He was trying in part to deter people from suing him on the assumption that he had deep pockets. He was already facing a suit from a man who had tripped on his property in New Mexico. Another suit alleged that he was responsible for the death of someone who crashed during a lesson at a flight school McAfee had founded. He figured that if he were out of the country, he’d be less of a target. And he knew that, should he lose a case, it would be harder for the plaintiffs to collect money if he lived overseas.

In early 2008 McAfee started searching for property in the Caribbean. His criteria were pretty basic: He was looking for an English-speaking country near the US with beautiful beaches. He quickly came across a villa on Ambergris Caye in Belize. In the early ’90s he had visited the nation of 189,000 people and loved it. (Today the population is around 356,000.) He looked at the property on Google Earth, decided it was perfect, and bought it. The first time he saw it in person was in April 2008, when he moved in.

Soon after his arrival, McAfee began to explore the country. He was particularly fascinated by stories of a majestic Mayan city in the jungle and hired a guide to go see it. Boating up a river that snaked into the northern jungle, they stopped at a makeshift dock that jutted from the dense vegetation. McAfee jumped ashore, pushed through the vines, and caught sight of a towering, crumbling temple. Trees had grown up through the ancient buildings, encasing them in roots. Giant stone faces glared out through the foliage, mouths agape. As the men walked up the steps of the temple, the guide described how the Mayans sacrificed their prisoners, sending torrents of blood down the very stairs he and McAfee were now climbing.

McAfee was spellbound. “Belize is so raw and so clear and so in-your-face. There’s an opportunity to see something about human nature that you can’t really see in a politer society, because the purpose of society is to mask ourselves from each other,” McAfee says. The jungle, in other words, would give him the chance to find out exactly who he was, and that opportunity was irresistible.

So in February 2010 he bought two and a half acres of swampy land along the New River, 10 miles upriver from the Mayan ruins. Over the next year, he spent more than a million dollars filling in the swamp and constructing an array of thatched-roofed bungalows. While his girlfriend, Irwin, stayed on Ambergris Caye, McAfee outfitted the place like Kublai Khan’s sumptuous house of pleasure. He imported ancient Tibetan art and shipped in a baby grand piano even though he had never taken lessons. There was no Internet. At night, when the construction stopped, there was just the sound of the river flowing quietly past. He sat at the piano and played exuberant odes of his own creation. “It was magical,” he says.

He didn’t like the idea of getting old, though, so he injected testosterone into his buttocks every other week. He felt that it gave him youthful energy and kept him lean. Plus, he wasn’t looking for a quiet retirement. He started a cigar manufacturing business, a coffee distribution company, and a water taxi service that connected parts of Ambergris Caye. He continued to build more bungalows on his property even though he had no pressing need for them.

In 2010 McAfee visited a beachfront resort for lunch and met Allison Adonizio, a 31-year-old microbiologist who was on vacation. In the resort’s dining room, Adonizio explained that she was doing postgrad research at Harvard on how plants combat bacteria. She was particularly interested in plant compounds that appeared to prevent bacteria from causing infections by interfering with the way the microbes communicated. Eventually, Adonizio explained, the work might also lead to an entire new class of antibiotics.

McAfee was thrilled by the idea. He had fought off digital contagions, and now he could fight organic ones. It was perfect.

He immediately proposed they start a business to commercialize her research. Within minutes McAfee was talking in rapid-fire bursts about how this would transform the pharmaceutical industry and the entire world. They would save millions of lives and reinvent whole industries. Adonizio was astounded. “He offered me my dream job,” she says. “My own lab, assistants. It was incredible.”

Adonizio said yes on the spot, quit her research position in Boston, sold the house she had just bought, and moved to Belize. McAfee soon built a laboratory on his property and stocked it with tens of thousands of dollars’ worth of equipment. Adonizio went to work trying to isolate new plant compounds that might be effective medicines, while McAfee touted the business to the international press.

But the methodical pace of Adonizio’s scientific research couldn’t keep up with McAfee’s enthusiasm, and his attention seemed to wander. He began spending more time in Orange Walk, a town of about 13,000 people that was 5 miles from his compound. McAfee described it in an email to friends as “the asshole of the worlddirty, hot, gray, dilapidated.” He liked to walk the town’s poorly paved streets and take pictures of the residents. “I gravitate to the world’s outcasts,” he explained in another email. “Prostitutes, thieves, the handicapped … For some reason I have always been fascinated by these subcultures.”

Though he says he never drank alcohol, he became a regular at a saloon called Lover’s Bar. The proprietor, McAfee wrote to his friends, was partial to “shatteringly bad Mexican karaoke music to which voices beyond description add a disharmony that reaches diabolic proportions.” McAfee quickly noticed that the place doubled as a whorehouse, servicing, as he put it, “cane field workers, street vendors, fishermen, farmersanyone who has managed to save up $15 for a good time.”

This was the real world he was looking for, in all its horror. The bar girls were given one Belize dollar for every beer a patron bought them. To increase their earnings, some of the women would chug beers, vomit in the restroom, and return to chug more. One reported drinking 50 beers in one day. “Ninety-nine percent of people would run because they’d fear for their safety or sanity,” McAfee says. “I couldn’t do that. I couldn’t walk away.”

McAfee started spending most mornings at Lover’s. After six months, he sent out another update to his friends: “My fragile connection with the world of polite society has, without a doubt, been severed,” he wrote. “My attire would rank me among the worst-dressed Tijuana panhandlers. My hygiene is no better. Yesterday, for the first time, I urinated in public, in broad daylight.”

McAfee knew he had entered a dangerous world. “I have no illusions,” he noted in another dispatch. “We are tainted by everything we touch.”

Evaristo “Paz” Novelo, the obese Belizean proprietor of Lover’s, liked to sit at a corner table and squint at his customers through perpetually puffy eyes. He admits to a long history of operating brothels and prides himself on his ability to figure out exactly what will please his patrons. Early on, he asked whether McAfee was looking for a woman. When McAfee said no, Novelo asked whether he wanted a boy. McAfee declined again. Then Novelo showed up at McAfee’s compound with a 16-year-old girl named Amy Emshwiller.

Emshwiller had a brassy toughness that belied her girlishness. In a matter-of-fact tone, she told McAfee that she had been abused as a child and said that her mother had forced her to sleep with dozens of men for money. “I don’t fall in love,” she told him. “That’s not my job.” She carried a gun, wore aviator sunglasses, and had on a low-cut shirt that framed her ample cleavage.

McAfee felt a swirl of emotions: lust, compassion, pity. “I am the male version of Amy,” he says. “I resonated with her story because I lived it.”

Emshwiller, however, felt nothing for him. “I know how to control men,” she says. “I told him my story because I wanted him to feel sorry for me, and it worked.” All Emshwiller saw was an easy mark. “A millionaire in freaking Belize, where people work all day just to make a dime?” she says. “Who wouldn’t want to rob him?”

McAfee soon realized that Emshwiller was dangerous and unstable, but that was part of her attractiveness. “She can pretend sanity better than any woman I have ever known,” he says. “And she can be alluring, she can be very beautiful, she can be butchlike. She’s a chameleon.” Within a month they were sleeping together, and McAfee started building a new bungalow on his property for her.

Visiting from Ambergris Caye, McAfee’s girlfriend, Jennifer Irwin, was flabbergasted. She asked him to tell the girl to leave, and when McAfee refused, Irwin left the country. McAfee hardly blames her. “What I basically did was can a solid 12-year relationship for a stark-raving madwoman,” he says. “But I honestly fell in love.”

One night Emshwiller decided to make her move. She slipped out of bed and pulled McAfee’s Smith & Wesson out of a holster hanging from an ancient Tibetan gong in his bedroom. Her plan, if it could be called that, was to kill him and make off with as much cash as she could scrounge up. She crept to the foot of the bed, aimed, and started to pull the trigger. But at the last moment she closed her eyes, and the bullet went wide, ripping through a pillow. “I guess I didn’t want to kill the bastard,” she admits.

McAfee leaped out of bed and grabbed the gun before she could fire again. She ran to the bathroom, locked herself in, and asked if he was going to shoot her. He couldn’t hear out of his left ear and was trying to get his bearings. Finally he told her he was going to take away her phone and TV for a month. She was furious.

>”I basically canned a solid 12-year relationship for a stark-raving madwoman,” McAfee says. “But I fell in love.”

“But I didn’t even kill you!” she shouted.

McAfee decided it was better for Emshwiller to have her own place about a mile down the road in the village of Carmelita. So in early 2011 he built her a house in the village. Many of the homes are made of stripped tree trunks and topped with sheets of corrugated iron; 10 percent have no electricity. The village has a handful of dirt roads populated with colonies of biting ants and a grassy soccer field surrounded by palm trees and stray dogs. The town’s biggest source of income: sand from a pit by the river that locals sell to construction companies.

Emshwiller, who had grown up in the area, warned McAfee that the village was not what it appeared to be. She told him that the tiny, impoverished town of 1,600 was in fact a major shipment site for drugs moving overland into Mexico, 35 miles to the north. As Emshwiller described it, this village in McAfee’s backyard was crawling with narco-traffickers.

It was a revelation perfectly tailored to feed into McAfee’s latent paranoia. “I was massively disturbed,” he says. “I fell in love with the river, but then I discovered the horrors of Carmelita.”

He asked Emshwiller what he should do. “She wanted me to shoot all the men in the town,” McAfee says. It occurred to him that she might be using him to exact revenge on people who had wronged her, so he asked the denizens of Lover’s for more information. They told him stories of killings, torture, and gang wars in the area. For McAfee, the town began to take on mythic proportions. “Carmelita was literally the Wild West,” he says. “I didn’t realize that 2 miles away was the most corrupt village on the planet.”

He decided to go on the offensive. After all, he was a smart Silicon Valley entrepreneur who had launched a multibillion-dollar company. Even though he had lost a lot of money in the financial crisis, he was still wealthy. Maybe he couldn’t maintain multiple estates around the world, but surely he could clean up one village.

He started by solving some obvious problems. Carmelita had no police station, so McAfee bought a small cement house and hired workers to install floor-to-ceiling iron bars. Then he told the national cops responsible for the area to start arresting people. The police protested that they were ill-equipped for the job, so McAfee furnished them with imported M16s, boots, pepper spray, stun guns, and batons. Eventually he started paying officers to patrol during their off-hours. The police, in essence, became McAfee’s private army, and he began issuing orders. “What I’d like you to do is go into Carmelita and start getting information for me,” he told the officers on his payroll. “Who’s dealing drugs, and where are the drugs coming from?”

When a 22-year-old villager nicknamed Burger fired a gun outside Emshwiller’s house in November 2011, McAfee decided he couldn’t rely on others to get the work done; he needed to take action himself. An eyewitness told him that Burger had shot at a motorcycleit looked like a drug deal gone bad. Burger’s sister said that he was firing at stray dogs that attacked him. Either way, McAfee was incensed. He drove his gray Dodge pickup to the family’s wooden shack near the river and strode into the muddy yard with Emshwiller as his backup (she was carrying a matte-black air rifle with a large scope). Burger wasn’t there, but his mother, sister, and brother-in-law were. “I’m giving you a last chance here,” McAfee said, holding his Smith & Wesson. “Your brother will be a dead man if he doesn’t turn in that gun. It doesn’t matter where he goes.”

“It was like he thought he was in a movie,” says Amelia Allen, the shooter’s sister. But she wasn’t going to argue with McAfee. Her mother pulled the gun out of a bush and handed it to him.

Soon, McAfee was everywhere. He pulled over a suspicious car on the road only to discover that it was filled with elderly people and children. He offered a new flatscreen TV to a small-time marijuana peddler on the condition that the man stop dealing (the guy accepted, though the TV soon broke). “It was like John Wayne came to town,” says Elvis Reynolds, former chair of the village council.

When I visited the village, Reynolds and others admitted that there were fights and petty theft but insisted that Carmelita was simply an impoverished little village, not a major transit point for international narco-traffickers, as McAfee alleges. The village leaders, for their part, were dumbfounded. Many were unfamiliar with antivirus software and had never heard of John McAfee. “I thought he would come by, introduce himself, and explain what he was doing here, but he never did,” says Feliciano Salam, a soft-spoken resident who has served on the village council for two years. “He just showed up and started telling us what to do.”

The fact that he was running a laboratory on his property only added to the mystery. Adonizio was continuing to research botanical compounds, but McAfee didn’t want to tell the locals anything about it. In part he was worried about corporate espionage. He had seen white men in suits standing beside their cars on the heavily trafficked toll bridge near his property and was sure they were spies. “Do you realize that Glaxo, Bayer, every single drug company in the world sent people out there?” McAfee says. “I was working on a project that had some paradigm-shifting impact on the drug world. It would be insanity to talk about it.”

McAfee became convinced that he was being watched at all hours. Across the river, he saw people lurking in the forest and would surveil them with binoculars. When Emshwiller visited, she never noticed anybody but repeatedly told McAfee to be careful. She heard rumors that gang members were out to “jack” himrob and kill him. On one occasion, she recorded a village councilman discussing how to dispatch McAfee with a grenade. McAfee was wowed by her street smarts”She is brilliant beyond description,” he saysand relished the fact that she had come full circle and was now defending him. “He got himself into a very entangled, dysfunctional situation,” says Katrina Ancona, the wife of McAfee’s partner in the water taxi business. “We kept telling him to get out.”

Adonizio was also worried about McAfee’s behavior. He had initially told her that the area was perfectly safe, but now she was surrounded by armed men. When she went to talk to McAfee in his bungalow, she noticed garbage bags filled with cash and blister packs of pharmaceuticals, including Viagra. She lived just outside of Carmelita and had never had any problems. If there was any danger, she felt that it was coming from McAfee. “He turned into a very scary person,” she says. She wasn’t comfortable living there anymore and left the country.

George Lovell, CEO of the Ministry of National Security, was also concerned that McAfee was buying guns and hiring guards. “When I see people doing this, my question is, what are you trying to protect?” Lovell says. Marco Vidal, head of the Gang Suppression Unit, concurred. “We got information to suggest that there may have been a meth laboratory at his location,” he wrote in an email. “Given the intelligence on McAfee, there was no scope for making efforts to resolve the matter.” He proposed a raid, and his superiors approved it.

When members of the GSU swept into McAfee’s compound on April 30, 2012, they found no meth. They found no illegal drugs of any kind. They did confiscate 10 weapons and 320 rounds of ammunition. Three of McAfee’s security guards were operating without a security guard license, and charges were filed against them. McAfee was accused of possessing an unlicensed firearm and spent a night in the Queen Street jail, aka the Pisshouse.

But the next morning, the charges were dropped and McAfee was released. He was convinced, however, that his war on drugs had made him some powerful enemies.

He had reason to worry. According to Vidal, McAfee was still a “person of interest,” primarily because the authorities still couldn’t explain what he was up to. “The GSU makes no apologies for deeming a person in control of a laboratory, with no approval for manufacturing any substance, having gang connections and heavily armed security guards, as a person of interest,” Vidal wrote.

Vidal’s suspicions may not have been far off. Two years after moving to Belize, McAfee began posting dozens of queries on Bluelight.ru, a drug discussion forum. He explained that he had started to experiment with MDPV, a psychoactive stimulant found in bath salts, a class of designer drugs that have effects similar to amphetamines and cocaine. “When I first started doing this I accidently got a few drops on my fingers while handling a used flask and didn’t sleep for four days,” McAfee posted. “I had visual and auditory hallucinations and the worst paranoia of my life.”

McAfee indicated, though, that the heightened sexuality justified the drug’s risks and claimed to have produced 50 pounds of MDPV in 2010. “I have distributed over 3,000 doses exclusively in this country,” he wrote. But neither Emshwiller, Adonizio, nor anyone else I spoke with observed him making the stuff. So how could he have produced 50 pounds without anyone noticing?

McAfee has a simple explanation: The whole thing was an elaborate prank aimed at tricking drug users into trying a notoriously noxious drug. “It was the most tongue-in-cheek thing in the fucking world,” he says, and denies ever taking the substance. “If I’m gonna do drugs, I’m gonna do something that I know is good,” he says. “I’m gonna grab some mushrooms, number one, and maybe get some really fine cocaine.

Read the rest here:

John McAfee Fled to Belize, But He Couldnt … – WIRED

The McAfee guide to uninstalling McAfee Antivirus | John …

Theres days when I see despicable, disgusting shit like this and realize that my 10 years I spent working for a huge corporation would have been much more fun had I worked for John instead, if only my manager knew the proper straw for bath salts, if he had a magical collection of self spawning guns, I might have just, maybepossibly not wasted 10 years of my life..what a shit showanyways, that was like watching a train plow into a huge chicken coop full of babies, I couldnt stop watching, and when it was over, I couldnt stop laughing.

Today WAS a crappy day, today sucked..until I watched that, thanks John, I needed that, your a sick man, I love it when I see someone act out the shit that goes on in my head.

Jason (still trapped in corporate hell, just a smaller corporate hell for 1/2 the money)

Read the original here:

The McAfee guide to uninstalling McAfee Antivirus | John …

John McAfee Says He’s No Longer Pitching ICOs "Due To SEC …

Anyone who understands the difference between a Free Republic with markets and the UCC Criminal Fraud UNITED STATES, CORP. INC. is de facto considered a Threat to their chicanery.

Lyn Ulbricht, mother of Ross Ulbricht, joins us today to discuss the arrest, conviction and unconscionable double life plus 40 year sentence of her son in the Silk Road case. We discuss the case against Ross and the exculpatory information that was withheld from the jury (and sometimes even the defence) during his trial. We also talk about the loss of his appeal in the 2nd District court and where theFreeRoss.orgcampaign goes from here.

https://www.corbettreport.com/interview-1285-lyn-ulbricht-updates-us-on

For as long as the Populace continues to CONSENT to the Board of Directors aka “CONgress” & its CEO aka “President” within their 10 square mile Criminal Fraud DC District of Criminals.

The raping, murder & pillaging will continue. And, the Custom wearing jack booted thugs will continue to enforce the Fraud.

You,

Black Laws Dictionary, CONSENT to it by birth, silence, signature etc…

They’re all involved in an elaborate scheme based on contrat law & Criminal deceit to Fraud The American People by CONSENT (Black Law’s Dictionary) & being an accessory to the deceit & Criminal Fraud by contracting with the Criminal State.

We are “Governed” Indoctrinated into a Political, Educational, Religious & Economic UNITED STATES, CORP based on contract law which is based on Criminal Fraud, deceit & illusion.

The Private Corp UNITED STATES, CORP uses the cover of being a functional Government when in reality they are not. Much like the Criminal Federal Reserve uses The “Federal” in their name & use it as cover to give the illusion that they are a branch of the US Government when they are not.

Through bankruptcies, Criminal Contract Fraud & deceit the Charlatans have incrementally incorporated the US as well as your souls (birth cert) which are securitized via the Criminal Federal Reserve through to the IMF.

They’re functioning off corporate version of the THE CONSTITUTION. It’s the reason why The Global Criminal Oligarch Cabal Bankster Intelligence Crime Syndicate continues to lie, cheat, deceit, rape & pillage with impunity.

The only power the have over you is with CONSENT (Black Law’s Dictionary). Pay no Taxes. Peaceful Non-Participation, Non-Compliance & being an accessory into their Criminal system/s based on Criminal Fraud, Debt Bondage & Enslavement.

Vote with Your Dollars. Seek Alternative Systems Decentralized outside the Control of the Borg. They’re out there. Peer to Peer. Seek them.

It’s because in times of trouble, the circle of trust contracts.

Smaller and smaller down to localities, and families. Local.

Trust in the federal government is collapsing/contracting along with other large institutions.

Smaller circle of trust = decentralization.

Long Agorism.

AGORISM:The ideology which asserts that the Libertarian philosophical position occurs in the real world in practice as Counter-Economics (see below).

AGORIST:Conscious practitioner of Counter-Economics; older terms include Left Libertarian and New Libertarian.

COUNTER-ECONOMICS:The study and/or practice of all human action which is forbidden by the State, including violation or non-compliance with regulations; sale and delivery of controlled or forbidden substances; ignoring of all borders and internal state boundaries, customs, tariffs, duties and taxes; evasion of taxes, tributes, levies and assizes; non-compliance with personal regulation such.

James Corbett:?The Most Dangerous Philosophy the Oligarchs Do Not Want You To Know.

https://www.corbettreport.com/the-most-dangerous-philosophy-what-the-oli…

Read the rest here:

John McAfee Says He’s No Longer Pitching ICOs "Due To SEC …

The New Fight | John McAfee

I have retained Telsforo Guerra, former Attorney General for the country of Guatemala, to assist in my fight against the Government of Belize. Mr. Guerra is one of most prominent attorneys in Guatemala and, as a shared border neighbor, is well versed in the intricate system of corruption with the Belizean Government. Mr. Guerra is Samanthas uncle.

I have, in the past three weeks, had no contact with the American Embassy in Belize. Since many employees of the Embassy are Belizean nationals, I did not feel safe in communicating with them. Now that I am in Guatemala, and in a safe harbor, I will reach out to the Embassy here.

To the Prime Minister of Belize I make the following offer: I will agree to meet you in a neutral country to discuss our mutual issues. It is entirely possible that you have little or no knowledge of the level of corruption being propagated throughout every branch of your government. I will turn over to you thousands of hours of video and audio as proof, providing that we meet as gentlemen and are mutually convinced of our honesty.

To the family of Gregory Faul: I had nothing to do with his death. I have lost five close family members in my 67 years and I know your suffering.

To the Belizean Police: I will answer any questions that you may have over the phone. If I am indeed merely wanted for questioning, this should suffice.

To my supporters: I have posted many short posts over the past three days during the setup and execution of my exit from Belize. The information was intended for my pursuers. I regret that it may have confused or alarmed many of you. I hope you will consider the circumstances and forgive me.

To my freinds: I will be in touch soon. I have not slept for 24 hours. I am in non-stop meetings and strategizing our next steps. I will call and email you soon. I love you all.

__________________________________________________

Two of my friends are still being held in prison on trumped up charges. They are:

Eddie Ancona:

Cassian Chavarria:

They were charged and have been imprisoned because three legally licensed firearms were found in the incorrect rooms on my property (stretching the law to the extreme). I would ask you to please email the following and demand their release:

Link:

The New Fight | John McAfee

John McAfee Fled to Belize, But He Couldnt Escape Himself

On November 12, 2012, Belizean police announced that they were seeking John McAfee for questioning in connection with the murder of his neighbor. Six months earlier, I began an in-depth investigation into McAfee’s life. This is the chronicle of that investigation.

Twelve weeks before the murder, John McAfee flicks open the cylinder of his Smith & Wesson revolver and empties the bullets, letting them clatter onto the table between us. A few tumble to the floor. McAfee is 66, lean and fit, with veins bulging out of his forearms. His hair is bleached blond in patches, like a cheetah, and tattoos wrap around his arms and shoulders.

More than 25 years ago, he formed McAfee Associates, a maker of antivirus software that went on to become immensely popular and was acquired by Intel in 2010 for $7.68 billion. Now he’s holed up in a bungalow on his island estate, about 15 miles off the coast of mainland Belize. The shades are drawn so I can see only a sliver of the white sand beach and turquoise water outside. The table is piled with boxes of ammunition, fake IDs bearing his photo, Frontiersman bear deterrent, and a single blue baby pacifier.

– Better Than Human

McAfee picks a bullet off the floor and fixes me with a wide-eyed, manic intensity. “This is a bullet, right?” he says in the congenial Southern accent that has stuck with him since his boyhood in Virginia.

“Let’s put the gun back,” I tell him. I’d come here to try to understand why the government of Belize was accusing him of assembling a private army and entering the drug trade. It seemed implausible that a wildly successful tech entrepreneur would disappear into the Central American jungle and become a narco-trafficker. Now I’m not so sure.

But he explains that the accusations are a fabrication. “Maybe what happened didn’t actually happen,” he says, staring hard at me. “Can I do a demonstration?”

He loads the bullet into the gleaming silver revolver, spins the cylinder.

“This scares you, right?” he says. Then he puts the gun to his head.

My heart rate kicks up; it takes me a second to respond. “Yeah, I’m scared,” I admit. “We don’t have to do this.”

“I know we don’t,” he says, the muzzle pressed against his temple. And then he pulls the trigger. Nothing happens. He pulls it three more times in rapid succession. There are only five chambers.

“Reholster the gun,” I demand.

He keeps his eyes fixed on me and pulls the trigger a fifth time. Still nothing. With the gun still to his head, he starts pulling the trigger incessantly. “I can do this all day long,” he says to the sound of the hammer clicking. “I can do this a thousand times. Ten thousand times. Nothing will ever happen. Why? Because you have missed something. You are operating on an assumption about reality that is wrong.”

It’s the same thing, he argues, with the government’s accusations. They were a smoke screenan attempt to distort realitybut there’s one thing everybody agrees on: The trouble really got rolling in the humid predawn murk of April 30, 2012.

It was a Monday, about 4:50 am. A television flickered in the guard station of McAfee’s newly built, 2.5-acre jungle outpost on the Belizean mainland. At the far end of the property, a muddy river flowed slowly past. Crocodiles lurked on the opposite bank, and howler monkeys screeched. In the guard station, a drunk night watchman gaped at Blond Ambition, a Madonna concert DVD.

The guard heard the trucks first. Then boots hitting the ground and the gate rattling as the lock was snapped with bolt cutters. He stood up and looked outside. Dozens of men in green camouflage were streaming into the compound. Many were members of Belize’s Gang Suppression Unit, an elite force trained in part by the FBI and armed with Taurus MT-9 submachine guns. Formed in 2010, their mission was to dismantle criminal organizations.

The guard observed the scene silently for a moment and then sat back down. After all, the Madonna concert wasn’t over yet. Outside, flashlight beams streaked across the property. “This is the police,” a voice blared over a bullhorn. “Everyone out!”

Deep in the compound, McAfee burst out of a thatched-roof bungalow that stood on stilts 20 feet off the ground. He was naked and held a revolver. Things had changed since his days as a high-flying software tycoon. By 2009 he had sold almost everything he ownedestates in Hawaii, Colorado, New Mexico, and Texas as well as his 10-passenger planeand moved into the jungle. He announced that he was searching for natural antibiotics in the rain forest and constructed a mysterious laboratory on his property. Now his jungle stronghold was under attack. The commandos were converging on him. There were 31 of them; he was outgunned and outmanned.

McAfee walked back inside to the 17-year-old in his bed. She was sitting up, naked, her long frizzy hair falling around her shoulders and framing the stars tattooed on her chest. She was terrified.

As the GSU stormed up the stairs, he put on some shorts, laid down his gun, and walked out with his hands up. The commandos collided with McAfee at the top of the stairs, slammed him against the wall, and handcuffed him.

“You’re being detained on suspicion of producing methamphetamine,” one of the cops said.

McAfee twisted to look at his accuser. “That’s a startling hypothesis, sir,” he responded. “Because I haven’t sold drugs since 1983.”

BRIAN FINKE

Nineteen eighty-three was a pivotal year for McAfee. He was 38 and director of engineering at Omex, a company that built information storage systems in Santa Clara, California. He was also selling cocaine to his subordinates and snorting massive amounts himself. When he got too high to focus, he’d take a quaalude. If he started to fall asleep at his desk, he’d snort some more coke to wake up. McAfee had trouble making it through the day and spent his afternoons drinking scotch to even out the tumult in his head.

He’d been a mess for a long time. He grew up in Roanoke, Virginia, where his father was a road surveyor and his mother a bank teller. His father, McAfee recalls, was a heavy drinker and “a very unhappy man” who McAfee says beat him and his mother severely. When McAfee was 15, his father shot himself. “Every day I wake up with him,” McAfee says. “Every relationship I have, he’s by my side; every mistrust, he is the negotiator of that mistrust. So my life is fucked.”

McAfee started drinking heavily his first year at Roanoke College and supported himself by selling magazine subscriptions door-to-door. He would knock and announce that the lucky resident had won an absolutely free subscription; all they had to do was pay a small shipping and handling fee. “So, in fact, I am explaining to them why it’s not free and why they are going to pay for it. But the ruse worked,” McAfee recalls. He learned that confidence was all that mattered. He smiled, fixed them with his penetrating blue-eyed gaze, and hit them with a nonstop stream of patter. “I made a fortune,” he says.

He spent his money on booze but managed to graduate and start a PhD in mathematics at Northeast Louisiana State College in 1968. He got kicked out for sleeping with one of his undergraduate students (whom he later married) and ended up coding old-school punch-card programs for Univac in Bristol, Tennessee. That didn’t last long, either. He was arrested for buying marijuana, and though his lawyer got him off without a conviction, he was summarily fired.

Still, he had learned enough to gin up an impressive, totally fake rsum and used it to get a job at Missouri Pacific Railroad in St. Louis. It was 1969 and the company was attempting to use an IBM computer to schedule trains. After six months, McAfee’s system began to churn out optimized train-routing patterns. Unfortunately, he had also discovered LSD. He would drop acid in the morning, go to work, and route trains all day. One morning he decided to experiment with another psychedelic called DMT. He did a line, felt nothing, and decided to snort a whole bag of the orangish powder. “Within an hour my mind was shattered,” McAfee says.

People asked him questions, but he didn’t understand what they were saying. The computer was spitting out train schedules to the moon; he couldn’t make sense of it. He ended up behind a garbage can in downtown St. Louis, hearing voices and desperately hoping that nobody would look at him. He never went back to Missouri Pacific. Part of him believes he’s still on that trip, that everything since has been one giant hallucination and that one day he’ll snap out of it and find himself back on his couch in St. Louis, listening to Pink Floyd’s Dark Side of the Moon.

From then on he felt like he was always one step away from a total breakdown, which finally came at Omex in 1983. He was snorting lines of coke off his desk most mornings, polishing off a bottle of scotch every day, and living in constant fear that he would run out of drugs. His wife had left him, he’d given away his dog, and in the wake of what he calls a mutual agreement, he left Omex. He ended up shuttered in his house, with no friends, doing drugs alone for days on end and wondering whether he should kill himself just as his father had. “My life was total hell,” he says.

Finally he went to a therapist, who suggested he go to Alcoholics Anonymous. He attended a meeting and started sobbing. Someone gave him a hug and told him he wasn’t alone.

“That’s when life really began for me,” he says.

He says he’s been sober ever since.

When the Madonna concert ended, McAfee’s drunken guard finally emerged from his station and strolled over to find out what was going on. The police quickly surrounded him. They knew who he was: Austin “Tino” Allen had been convicted 28 times for crimes ranging from robbery to assault, and he had spent most of his life in and out of prison.

The police lined everybody up against a rock wall as the sun rose. A low, heavy heat filled the jungle. Everybody began to sweat when the police fanned out to search the property. As an officer headed toward an outlying building, one of McAfee’s dogs cut him off, growled, and, according to police, went in for an attack. The cop immediately shot the dog through the rib cage.

“What the fuck!” McAfee screamed. “That’s my dog.”

The police ignored him. They left the dead dog in the dirt while they rummaged through the compound. They found shotguns, pistols, a huge cache of ammunition, and hundreds of bottles of chemicals they couldn’t identify. McAfee and the others were left in the sun for hours. (GSU commander Marco Vidal claims they were under the shade of a large tree.) By the time the police announced that they were taking several of them to jail, McAfee says his face was turning pink with sunburn. He and Allen were loaded into the back of a pickup. The truck tore off, heading southeast toward Belize City at 80 miles per hour.

McAfee tried to stay calm, but he had to admit that this was a bad situation. He had walked away from a luxurious lifemansions on multiple continents, sports cars, a private planeonly to end up in the back of a pickup cuffed to a notoriously violent man. Allen pulled McAfee close so he could be heard over the roar of the wind. McAfee tensed. “Boss, I just want to say that it’s an honor to be here with you,” Allen shouted. “You must be a really important person for them to send all these men to get you.”

In 1986 two brothers in Pakistan coded the first known computer virus aimed at PCs. They weren’t trying to destroy anything; it was simple curiosity. They wanted to see how far their creation would travel, so they included their names, addresses, and telephone numbers in the code of the virus. They named it Brain after their computer services shop in Lahore.

Within a year the phone at the shop was ringing: Brain had infected computers around the world. At the time, McAfee had been sober for four years and gotten a security clearance to work on a classified voice-recognition program at Lockheed in Sunnyvale, California. But then he came across an article in the San Jose Mercury News about the spread of the Pakistani Brain virus in the US.

He found the idea terrifying. Nobody knew for sure at the time why these intrusions were occurring. It reminded him of his childhood, when his father would hit him for no reason. “I didn’t know why he did it,” McAfee says. “I just knew a beating could happen any time.” As a boy, he wasn’t able to fight back. Now, faced with a new form of attack that was hard to rationalize, he decided to do something.

He started McAfee Associates out of his 700-square-foot home in Santa Clara. His business plan: Create an antivirus program and give it away on electronic bulletin boards. McAfee didn’t expect users to pay. His real aim was to get them to think the software was so necessary that they would install it on their computers at work. They did. Within five years, half of the Fortune 100 companies were running it, and they felt compelled to pay a license fee. By 1990, McAfee was making $5 million a year with very little overhead or investment.

His success was due in part to his ability to spread his own paranoia, the fear that there was always somebody about to attack. Soon after launching his company, he bought a 27-foot Winnebago, loaded it with computers, and announced that he had formed the first “antivirus paramedic unit.” When he got a call from someone experiencing computer problems in the San Jose area, he drove to the site and searched for “virus residue.” Like a good door-to-door salesman, there was a kernel of truth to his pitch, but he amplified and embellished the facts to sell his product. The RV therefore was not just an RV; it was “the first specially customized unit to wage effective, on-the-spot counterattacks in the virus war.”

It was great publicity, executed with drama and sly wit. By the end of 1988, he was on The MacNeil/Lehrer NewsHour telling the country that viruses were causing so much damage, some companies were “near collapse from financial loss.” He underscored the danger with his 1989 book, Computer Viruses, Worms, Data Diddlers, Killer Programs, and Other Threats to Your System. “The reality is so alarming that it would be very difficult to exaggerate,” he wrote. “Even if no new viruses are ever created, there are already enough circulating to cause a growing problem as they reproduce. A major disaster seems inevitable.”

In 1992 McAfee told almost every major news network and newspaper that the recently discovered Michelangelo virus was a huge threat; he believed it could destroy as many as 5 million computers around the world. Sales of his software spiked, but in the end only tens of thousands of infections were reported. Though McAfee was roundly criticized for his proclamation, the criticism worked in his favor, as he explained in an email in 2000 to a computer-security blogger: “My business increased tenfold in the two months following the stories and six months later our revenues were 50 times greater and we had captured the lion’s share of the anti-virus market.”

This ability to infect others with his own paranoia made McAfee a wealthy man. In October 1992 his company debuted on Nasdaq, and his shares were suddenly worth $80 million.

The jail cell was about 10 feet by 10 feet. The concrete floor was bare and cold, the smell of urine overpowering. A plastic milk container in the corner had been hacked open and was serving as a toilet. The detention center was located in the Queen Street police station, but everybody in Belize City called it the Pisshouse. In the shadows of his cell, McAfee could see the other inmates staring at him.

No charges had been filed yet, though the police had confiscated what they said were two unlicensed firearms on McAfee’s property; they still couldn’t identify the chemicals they had found. McAfee said he had licenses for all his firearms and explained that the chemicals were part of his antibiotic research. The police weren’t buying it.

McAfee pulled 20 Belizean dollars out of his shoe and passed it through the bars to a guard. “You got a cigarette?” he asked.

McAfee hadn’t smoked for 10 years, but this seemed like a good time to start again. The guard handed him a book of matches and a pack of Benson & Hedges. McAfee lit one and took a deep drag. He was supposed to be living out a peaceful retirement in a tropical paradise. Now he was standing in jail, holding up his pants with one hand because the police had confiscated his belt. “Use this,” Allen said, offering him a dirty plastic bag.

McAfee looked confused. “You tie your pants,” Allen explained.

McAfee fed the bag through two of his belt loops, cinched it tight, and tied a knot. It worked.

“Welcome to the Pisshouse,” Allen said, smiling.

McAfee lived in Silicon Valley for nearly 20 years. Outwardly he seemed to lead a traditional life with his second wife, Judy. He was a seasoned businessman whom startups turned to for advice. Stanford Graduate School of Business wrote two case studies highlighting his strategies. He was regularly invited to lecture at the school, and he was awarded an honorary doctorate from his alma mater, Roanoke College. In 2000 he started a yoga institute near his 10,000-square-foot mansion in the Colorado Rockies and wrote four books about spirituality. Even after his marriage fell apart in 2002, he was a respectable citizen who donated computers to schools and took out newspaper ads discouraging drug use.

But as he neared retirement age in the late 2000s, he started to feel like he was deluding himself. His properties, cars, and planes had become a burden, and he realized that he didn’t want the traditional rich man’s life anymore. Maintaining so many possessions was a constant distraction; it was time, he felt, to try to live more rustically. “John has always been searching for something,” says Jennifer Irwin, McAfee’s girlfriend at the time. She remembers him telling her once that he was trying to reach “the expansive horizon.”

He was also hurting financially. The economic collapse in 2008 hit him hard, and he couldn’t afford to maintain his lifestyle. By 2009 he’d auctioned off almost everything he owned, including more than 1,000 acres of land in Hawaii and the private airport he’d built in New Mexico. He was trying in part to deter people from suing him on the assumption that he had deep pockets. He was already facing a suit from a man who had tripped on his property in New Mexico. Another suit alleged that he was responsible for the death of someone who crashed during a lesson at a flight school McAfee had founded. He figured that if he were out of the country, he’d be less of a target. And he knew that, should he lose a case, it would be harder for the plaintiffs to collect money if he lived overseas.

In early 2008 McAfee started searching for property in the Caribbean. His criteria were pretty basic: He was looking for an English-speaking country near the US with beautiful beaches. He quickly came across a villa on Ambergris Caye in Belize. In the early ’90s he had visited the nation of 189,000 people and loved it. (Today the population is around 356,000.) He looked at the property on Google Earth, decided it was perfect, and bought it. The first time he saw it in person was in April 2008, when he moved in.

Soon after his arrival, McAfee began to explore the country. He was particularly fascinated by stories of a majestic Mayan city in the jungle and hired a guide to go see it. Boating up a river that snaked into the northern jungle, they stopped at a makeshift dock that jutted from the dense vegetation. McAfee jumped ashore, pushed through the vines, and caught sight of a towering, crumbling temple. Trees had grown up through the ancient buildings, encasing them in roots. Giant stone faces glared out through the foliage, mouths agape. As the men walked up the steps of the temple, the guide described how the Mayans sacrificed their prisoners, sending torrents of blood down the very stairs he and McAfee were now climbing.

McAfee was spellbound. “Belize is so raw and so clear and so in-your-face. There’s an opportunity to see something about human nature that you can’t really see in a politer society, because the purpose of society is to mask ourselves from each other,” McAfee says. The jungle, in other words, would give him the chance to find out exactly who he was, and that opportunity was irresistible.

So in February 2010 he bought two and a half acres of swampy land along the New River, 10 miles upriver from the Mayan ruins. Over the next year, he spent more than a million dollars filling in the swamp and constructing an array of thatched-roofed bungalows. While his girlfriend, Irwin, stayed on Ambergris Caye, McAfee outfitted the place like Kublai Khan’s sumptuous house of pleasure. He imported ancient Tibetan art and shipped in a baby grand piano even though he had never taken lessons. There was no Internet. At night, when the construction stopped, there was just the sound of the river flowing quietly past. He sat at the piano and played exuberant odes of his own creation. “It was magical,” he says.

He didn’t like the idea of getting old, though, so he injected testosterone into his buttocks every other week. He felt that it gave him youthful energy and kept him lean. Plus, he wasn’t looking for a quiet retirement. He started a cigar manufacturing business, a coffee distribution company, and a water taxi service that connected parts of Ambergris Caye. He continued to build more bungalows on his property even though he had no pressing need for them.

In 2010 McAfee visited a beachfront resort for lunch and met Allison Adonizio, a 31-year-old microbiologist who was on vacation. In the resort’s dining room, Adonizio explained that she was doing postgrad research at Harvard on how plants combat bacteria. She was particularly interested in plant compounds that appeared to prevent bacteria from causing infections by interfering with the way the microbes communicated. Eventually, Adonizio explained, the work might also lead to an entire new class of antibiotics.

McAfee was thrilled by the idea. He had fought off digital contagions, and now he could fight organic ones. It was perfect.

He immediately proposed they start a business to commercialize her research. Within minutes McAfee was talking in rapid-fire bursts about how this would transform the pharmaceutical industry and the entire world. They would save millions of lives and reinvent whole industries. Adonizio was astounded. “He offered me my dream job,” she says. “My own lab, assistants. It was incredible.”

Adonizio said yes on the spot, quit her research position in Boston, sold the house she had just bought, and moved to Belize. McAfee soon built a laboratory on his property and stocked it with tens of thousands of dollars’ worth of equipment. Adonizio went to work trying to isolate new plant compounds that might be effective medicines, while McAfee touted the business to the international press.

But the methodical pace of Adonizio’s scientific research couldn’t keep up with McAfee’s enthusiasm, and his attention seemed to wander. He began spending more time in Orange Walk, a town of about 13,000 people that was 5 miles from his compound. McAfee described it in an email to friends as “the asshole of the worlddirty, hot, gray, dilapidated.” He liked to walk the town’s poorly paved streets and take pictures of the residents. “I gravitate to the world’s outcasts,” he explained in another email. “Prostitutes, thieves, the handicapped … For some reason I have always been fascinated by these subcultures.”

Though he says he never drank alcohol, he became a regular at a saloon called Lover’s Bar. The proprietor, McAfee wrote to his friends, was partial to “shatteringly bad Mexican karaoke music to which voices beyond description add a disharmony that reaches diabolic proportions.” McAfee quickly noticed that the place doubled as a whorehouse, servicing, as he put it, “cane field workers, street vendors, fishermen, farmersanyone who has managed to save up $15 for a good time.”

This was the real world he was looking for, in all its horror. The bar girls were given one Belize dollar for every beer a patron bought them. To increase their earnings, some of the women would chug beers, vomit in the restroom, and return to chug more. One reported drinking 50 beers in one day. “Ninety-nine percent of people would run because they’d fear for their safety or sanity,” McAfee says. “I couldn’t do that. I couldn’t walk away.”

McAfee started spending most mornings at Lover’s. After six months, he sent out another update to his friends: “My fragile connection with the world of polite society has, without a doubt, been severed,” he wrote. “My attire would rank me among the worst-dressed Tijuana panhandlers. My hygiene is no better. Yesterday, for the first time, I urinated in public, in broad daylight.”

McAfee knew he had entered a dangerous world. “I have no illusions,” he noted in another dispatch. “We are tainted by everything we touch.”

Evaristo “Paz” Novelo, the obese Belizean proprietor of Lover’s, liked to sit at a corner table and squint at his customers through perpetually puffy eyes. He admits to a long history of operating brothels and prides himself on his ability to figure out exactly what will please his patrons. Early on, he asked whether McAfee was looking for a woman. When McAfee said no, Novelo asked whether he wanted a boy. McAfee declined again. Then Novelo showed up at McAfee’s compound with a 16-year-old girl named Amy Emshwiller.

Emshwiller had a brassy toughness that belied her girlishness. In a matter-of-fact tone, she told McAfee that she had been abused as a child and said that her mother had forced her to sleep with dozens of men for money. “I don’t fall in love,” she told him. “That’s not my job.” She carried a gun, wore aviator sunglasses, and had on a low-cut shirt that framed her ample cleavage.

McAfee felt a swirl of emotions: lust, compassion, pity. “I am the male version of Amy,” he says. “I resonated with her story because I lived it.”

Emshwiller, however, felt nothing for him. “I know how to control men,” she says. “I told him my story because I wanted him to feel sorry for me, and it worked.” All Emshwiller saw was an easy mark. “A millionaire in freaking Belize, where people work all day just to make a dime?” she says. “Who wouldn’t want to rob him?”

McAfee soon realized that Emshwiller was dangerous and unstable, but that was part of her attractiveness. “She can pretend sanity better than any woman I have ever known,” he says. “And she can be alluring, she can be very beautiful, she can be butchlike. She’s a chameleon.” Within a month they were sleeping together, and McAfee started building a new bungalow on his property for her.

Visiting from Ambergris Caye, McAfee’s girlfriend, Jennifer Irwin, was flabbergasted. She asked him to tell the girl to leave, and when McAfee refused, Irwin left the country. McAfee hardly blames her. “What I basically did was can a solid 12-year relationship for a stark-raving madwoman,” he says. “But I honestly fell in love.”

One night Emshwiller decided to make her move. She slipped out of bed and pulled McAfee’s Smith & Wesson out of a holster hanging from an ancient Tibetan gong in his bedroom. Her plan, if it could be called that, was to kill him and make off with as much cash as she could scrounge up. She crept to the foot of the bed, aimed, and started to pull the trigger. But at the last moment she closed her eyes, and the bullet went wide, ripping through a pillow. “I guess I didn’t want to kill the bastard,” she admits.

McAfee leaped out of bed and grabbed the gun before she could fire again. She ran to the bathroom, locked herself in, and asked if he was going to shoot her. He couldn’t hear out of his left ear and was trying to get his bearings. Finally he told her he was going to take away her phone and TV for a month. She was furious.

>”I basically canned a solid 12-year relationship for a stark-raving madwoman,” McAfee says. “But I fell in love.”

“But I didn’t even kill you!” she shouted.

McAfee decided it was better for Emshwiller to have her own place about a mile down the road in the village of Carmelita. So in early 2011 he built her a house in the village. Many of the homes are made of stripped tree trunks and topped with sheets of corrugated iron; 10 percent have no electricity. The village has a handful of dirt roads populated with colonies of biting ants and a grassy soccer field surrounded by palm trees and stray dogs. The town’s biggest source of income: sand from a pit by the river that locals sell to construction companies.

Emshwiller, who had grown up in the area, warned McAfee that the village was not what it appeared to be. She told him that the tiny, impoverished town of 1,600 was in fact a major shipment site for drugs moving overland into Mexico, 35 miles to the north. As Emshwiller described it, this village in McAfee’s backyard was crawling with narco-traffickers.

It was a revelation perfectly tailored to feed into McAfee’s latent paranoia. “I was massively disturbed,” he says. “I fell in love with the river, but then I discovered the horrors of Carmelita.”

He asked Emshwiller what he should do. “She wanted me to shoot all the men in the town,” McAfee says. It occurred to him that she might be using him to exact revenge on people who had wronged her, so he asked the denizens of Lover’s for more information. They told him stories of killings, torture, and gang wars in the area. For McAfee, the town began to take on mythic proportions. “Carmelita was literally the Wild West,” he says. “I didn’t realize that 2 miles away was the most corrupt village on the planet.”

He decided to go on the offensive. After all, he was a smart Silicon Valley entrepreneur who had launched a multibillion-dollar company. Even though he had lost a lot of money in the financial crisis, he was still wealthy. Maybe he couldn’t maintain multiple estates around the world, but surely he could clean up one village.

He started by solving some obvious problems. Carmelita had no police station, so McAfee bought a small cement house and hired workers to install floor-to-ceiling iron bars. Then he told the national cops responsible for the area to start arresting people. The police protested that they were ill-equipped for the job, so McAfee furnished them with imported M16s, boots, pepper spray, stun guns, and batons. Eventually he started paying officers to patrol during their off-hours. The police, in essence, became McAfee’s private army, and he began issuing orders. “What I’d like you to do is go into Carmelita and start getting information for me,” he told the officers on his payroll. “Who’s dealing drugs, and where are the drugs coming from?”

When a 22-year-old villager nicknamed Burger fired a gun outside Emshwiller’s house in November 2011, McAfee decided he couldn’t rely on others to get the work done; he needed to take action himself. An eyewitness told him that Burger had shot at a motorcycleit looked like a drug deal gone bad. Burger’s sister said that he was firing at stray dogs that attacked him. Either way, McAfee was incensed. He drove his gray Dodge pickup to the family’s wooden shack near the river and strode into the muddy yard with Emshwiller as his backup (she was carrying a matte-black air rifle with a large scope). Burger wasn’t there, but his mother, sister, and brother-in-law were. “I’m giving you a last chance here,” McAfee said, holding his Smith & Wesson. “Your brother will be a dead man if he doesn’t turn in that gun. It doesn’t matter where he goes.”

“It was like he thought he was in a movie,” says Amelia Allen, the shooter’s sister. But she wasn’t going to argue with McAfee. Her mother pulled the gun out of a bush and handed it to him.

Soon, McAfee was everywhere. He pulled over a suspicious car on the road only to discover that it was filled with elderly people and children. He offered a new flatscreen TV to a small-time marijuana peddler on the condition that the man stop dealing (the guy accepted, though the TV soon broke). “It was like John Wayne came to town,” says Elvis Reynolds, former chair of the village council.

When I visited the village, Reynolds and others admitted that there were fights and petty theft but insisted that Carmelita was simply an impoverished little village, not a major transit point for international narco-traffickers, as McAfee alleges. The village leaders, for their part, were dumbfounded. Many were unfamiliar with antivirus software and had never heard of John McAfee. “I thought he would come by, introduce himself, and explain what he was doing here, but he never did,” says Feliciano Salam, a soft-spoken resident who has served on the village council for two years. “He just showed up and started telling us what to do.”

The fact that he was running a laboratory on his property only added to the mystery. Adonizio was continuing to research botanical compounds, but McAfee didn’t want to tell the locals anything about it. In part he was worried about corporate espionage. He had seen white men in suits standing beside their cars on the heavily trafficked toll bridge near his property and was sure they were spies. “Do you realize that Glaxo, Bayer, every single drug company in the world sent people out there?” McAfee says. “I was working on a project that had some paradigm-shifting impact on the drug world. It would be insanity to talk about it.”

McAfee became convinced that he was being watched at all hours. Across the river, he saw people lurking in the forest and would surveil them with binoculars. When Emshwiller visited, she never noticed anybody but repeatedly told McAfee to be careful. She heard rumors that gang members were out to “jack” himrob and kill him. On one occasion, she recorded a village councilman discussing how to dispatch McAfee with a grenade. McAfee was wowed by her street smarts”She is brilliant beyond description,” he saysand relished the fact that she had come full circle and was now defending him. “He got himself into a very entangled, dysfunctional situation,” says Katrina Ancona, the wife of McAfee’s partner in the water taxi business. “We kept telling him to get out.”

Adonizio was also worried about McAfee’s behavior. He had initially told her that the area was perfectly safe, but now she was surrounded by armed men. When she went to talk to McAfee in his bungalow, she noticed garbage bags filled with cash and blister packs of pharmaceuticals, including Viagra. She lived just outside of Carmelita and had never had any problems. If there was any danger, she felt that it was coming from McAfee. “He turned into a very scary person,” she says. She wasn’t comfortable living there anymore and left the country.

George Lovell, CEO of the Ministry of National Security, was also concerned that McAfee was buying guns and hiring guards. “When I see people doing this, my question is, what are you trying to protect?” Lovell says. Marco Vidal, head of the Gang Suppression Unit, concurred. “We got information to suggest that there may have been a meth laboratory at his location,” he wrote in an email. “Given the intelligence on McAfee, there was no scope for making efforts to resolve the matter.” He proposed a raid, and his superiors approved it.

When members of the GSU swept into McAfee’s compound on April 30, 2012, they found no meth. They found no illegal drugs of any kind. They did confiscate 10 weapons and 320 rounds of ammunition. Three of McAfee’s security guards were operating without a security guard license, and charges were filed against them. McAfee was accused of possessing an unlicensed firearm and spent a night in the Queen Street jail, aka the Pisshouse.

But the next morning, the charges were dropped and McAfee was released. He was convinced, however, that his war on drugs had made him some powerful enemies.

He had reason to worry. According to Vidal, McAfee was still a “person of interest,” primarily because the authorities still couldn’t explain what he was up to. “The GSU makes no apologies for deeming a person in control of a laboratory, with no approval for manufacturing any substance, having gang connections and heavily armed security guards, as a person of interest,” Vidal wrote.

Vidal’s suspicions may not have been far off. Two years after moving to Belize, McAfee began posting dozens of queries on Bluelight.ru, a drug discussion forum. He explained that he had started to experiment with MDPV, a psychoactive stimulant found in bath salts, a class of designer drugs that have effects similar to amphetamines and cocaine. “When I first started doing this I accidently got a few drops on my fingers while handling a used flask and didn’t sleep for four days,” McAfee posted. “I had visual and auditory hallucinations and the worst paranoia of my life.”

McAfee indicated, though, that the heightened sexuality justified the drug’s risks and claimed to have produced 50 pounds of MDPV in 2010. “I have distributed over 3,000 doses exclusively in this country,” he wrote. But neither Emshwiller, Adonizio, nor anyone else I spoke with observed him making the stuff. So how could he have produced 50 pounds without anyone noticing?

McAfee has a simple explanation: The whole thing was an elaborate prank aimed at tricking drug users into trying a notoriously noxious drug. “It was the most tongue-in-cheek thing in the fucking world,” he says, and denies ever taking the substance. “If I’m gonna do drugs, I’m gonna do something that I know is good,” he says. “I’m gonna grab some mushrooms, number one, and maybe get some really fine cocaine.

See original here:

John McAfee Fled to Belize, But He Couldnt Escape Himself

John McAfee Fled to Belize, But He Couldnt … – WIRED

On November 12, 2012, Belizean police announced that they were seeking John McAfee for questioning in connection with the murder of his neighbor. Six months earlier, I began an in-depth investigation into McAfees life. This is the chronicle of that investigation.

Twelve weeks before the murder, John McAfee flicks open the cylinder of his Smith & Wesson revolver and empties the bullets, letting them clatter onto the table between us. A few tumble to the floor. McAfee is 66, lean and fit, with veins bulging out of his forearms. His hair is bleached blond in patches, like a cheetah, and tattoos wrap around his arms and shoulders.

More than 25 years ago, he formed McAfee Associates, a maker of antivirus software that went on to become immensely popular and was acquired by Intel in 2010 for $7.68 billion. Now hes holed up in a bungalow on his island estate, about 15 miles off the coast of mainland Belize. The shades are drawn so I can see only a sliver of the white sand beach and turquoise water outside. The table is piled with boxes of ammunition, fake IDs bearing his photo, Frontiersman bear deterrent, and a single blue baby pacifier.

McAfee picks a bullet off the floor and fixes me with a wide-eyed, manic intensity. This is a bullet, right? he says in the congenial Southern accent that has stuck with him since his boyhood in Virginia.

Lets put the gun back, I tell him. Id come here to try to understand why the government of Belize was accusing him of assembling a private army and entering the drug trade. It seemed implausible that a wildly successful tech entrepreneur would disappear into the Central American jungle and become a narco-trafficker. Now Im not so sure.

But he explains that the accusations are a fabrication. Maybe what happened didnt actually happen, he says, staring hard at me. Can I do a demonstration?

He loads the bullet into the gleaming silver revolver, spins the cylinder.

This scares you, right? he says. Then he puts the gun to his head.

My heart rate kicks up; it takes me a second to respond. Yeah, Im scared, I admit. We dont have to do this.

I know we dont, he says, the muzzle pressed against his temple. And then he pulls the trigger. Nothing happens. He pulls it three more times in rapid succession. There are only five chambers.

Reholster the gun, I demand.

He keeps his eyes fixed on me and pulls the trigger a fifth time. Still nothing. With the gun still to his head, he starts pulling the trigger incessantly. I can do this all day long, he says to the sound of the hammer clicking. I can do this a thousand times. Ten thousand times. Nothing will ever happen. Why? Because you have missed something. You are operating on an assumption about reality that is wrong.

Its the same thing, he argues, with the governments accusations. They were a smoke screenan attempt to distort realitybut theres one thing everybody agrees on: The trouble really got rolling in the humid predawn murk of April 30, 2012.

It was a Monday, about 4:50 am. A television flickered in the guard station of McAfees newly built, 2.5-acre jungle outpost on the Belizean mainland. At the far end of the property, a muddy river flowed slowly past. Crocodiles lurked on the opposite bank, and howler monkeys screeched. In the guard station, a drunk night watchman gaped at Blond Ambition, a Madonna concert DVD.

The guard heard the trucks first. Then boots hitting the ground and the gate rattling as the lock was snapped with bolt cutters. He stood up and looked outside. Dozens of men in green camouflage were streaming into the compound. Many were members of Belizes Gang Suppression Unit, an elite force trained in part by the FBI and armed with Taurus MT-9 submachine guns. Formed in 2010, their mission was to dismantle criminal organizations.

The guard observed the scene silently for a moment and then sat back down. After all, the Madonna concert wasnt over yet. Outside, flashlight beams streaked across the property. This is the police, a voice blared over a bullhorn. Everyone out!

Deep in the compound, McAfee burst out of a thatched-roof bungalow that stood on stilts 20 feet off the ground. He was naked and held a revolver. Things had changed since his days as a high-flying software tycoon. By 2009 he had sold almost everything he ownedestates in Hawaii, Colorado, New Mexico, and Texas as well as his 10-passenger planeand moved into the jungle. He announced that he was searching for natural antibiotics in the rain forest and constructed a mysterious laboratory on his property. Now his jungle stronghold was under attack. The commandos were converging on him. There were 31 of them; he was outgunned and outmanned.

McAfee walked back inside to the 17-year-old in his bed. She was sitting up, naked, her long frizzy hair falling around her shoulders and framing the stars tattooed on her chest. She was terrified.

As the GSU stormed up the stairs, he put on some shorts, laid down his gun, and walked out with his hands up. The commandos collided with McAfee at the top of the stairs, slammed him against the wall, and handcuffed him.

Youre being detained on suspicion of producing methamphetamine, one of the cops said.

McAfee twisted to look at his accuser. Thats a startling hypothesis, sir, he responded. Because I havent sold drugs since 1983.

Nineteen eighty-three was a pivotal year for McAfee. He was 38 and director of engineering at Omex, a company that built information storage systems in Santa Clara, California. He was also selling cocaine to his subordinates and snorting massive amounts himself. When he got too high to focus, hed take a quaalude. If he started to fall asleep at his desk, hed snort some more coke to wake up. McAfee had trouble making it through the day and spent his afternoons drinking scotch to even out the tumult in his head.

Hed been a mess for a long time. He grew up in Roanoke, Virginia, where his father was a road surveyor and his mother a bank teller. His father, McAfee recalls, was a heavy drinker and a very unhappy man who McAfee says beat him and his mother severely. When McAfee was 15, his father shot himself. Every day I wake up with him, McAfee says. Every relationship I have, hes by my side; every mistrust, he is the negotiator of that mistrust. So my life is fucked.

McAfee started drinking heavily his first year at Roanoke College and supported himself by selling magazine subscriptions door-to-door. He would knock and announce that the lucky resident had won an absolutely free subscription; all they had to do was pay a small shipping and handling fee. So, in fact, I am explaining to them why its not free and why they are going to pay for it. But the ruse worked, McAfee recalls. He learned that confidence was all that mattered. He smiled, fixed them with his penetrating blue-eyed gaze, and hit them with a nonstop stream of patter. I made a fortune, he says.

He spent his money on booze but managed to graduate and start a PhD in mathematics at Northeast Louisiana State College in 1968. He got kicked out for sleeping with one of his undergraduate students (whom he later married) and ended up coding old-school punch-card programs for Univac in Bristol, Tennessee. That didnt last long, either. He was arrested for buying marijuana, and though his lawyer got him off without a conviction, he was summarily fired.

Still, he had learned enough to gin up an impressive, totally fake rsum and used it to get a job at Missouri Pacific Railroad in St. Louis. It was 1969 and the company was attempting to use an IBM computer to schedule trains. After six months, McAfees system began to churn out optimized train-routing patterns. Unfortunately, he had also discovered LSD. He would drop acid in the morning, go to work, and route trains all day. One morning he decided to experiment with another psychedelic called DMT. He did a line, felt nothing, and decided to snort a whole bag of the orangish powder. Within an hour my mind was shattered, McAfee says.

People asked him questions, but he didnt understand what they were saying. The computer was spitting out train schedules to the moon; he couldnt make sense of it. He ended up behind a garbage can in downtown St. Louis, hearing voices and desperately hoping that nobody would look at him. He never went back to Missouri Pacific. Part of him believes hes still on that trip, that everything since has been one giant hallucination and that one day hell snap out of it and find himself back on his couch in St. Louis, listening to Pink Floyds Dark Side of the Moon.

From then on he felt like he was always one step away from a total breakdown, which finally came at Omex in 1983. He was snorting lines of coke off his desk most mornings, polishing off a bottle of scotch every day, and living in constant fear that he would run out of drugs. His wife had left him, hed given away his dog, and in the wake of what he calls a mutual agreement, he left Omex. He ended up shuttered in his house, with no friends, doing drugs alone for days on end and wondering whether he should kill himself just as his father had. My life was total hell, he says.

Finally he went to a therapist, who suggested he go to Alcoholics Anonymous. He attended a meeting and started sobbing. Someone gave him a hug and told him he wasnt alone.

Thats when life really began for me, he says.

He says hes been sober ever since.

When the Madonna concert ended, McAfees drunken guard finally emerged from his station and strolled over to find out what was going on. The police quickly surrounded him. They knew who he was: Austin Tino Allen had been convicted 28 times for crimes ranging from robbery to assault, and he had spent most of his life in and out of prison.

The police lined everybody up against a rock wall as the sun rose. A low, heavy heat filled the jungle. Everybody began to sweat when the police fanned out to search the property. As an officer headed toward an outlying building, one of McAfees dogs cut him off, growled, and, according to police, went in for an attack. The cop immediately shot the dog through the rib cage.

What the fuck! McAfee screamed. Thats my dog.

The police ignored him. They left the dead dog in the dirt while they rummaged through the compound. They found shotguns, pistols, a huge cache of ammunition, and hundreds of bottles of chemicals they couldnt identify. McAfee and the others were left in the sun for hours. (GSU commander Marco Vidal claims they were under the shade of a large tree.) By the time the police announced that they were taking several of them to jail, McAfee says his face was turning pink with sunburn. He and Allen were loaded into the back of a pickup. The truck tore off, heading southeast toward Belize City at 80 miles per hour.

McAfee tried to stay calm, but he had to admit that this was a bad situation. He had walked away from a luxurious lifemansions on multiple continents, sports cars, a private planeonly to end up in the back of a pickup cuffed to a notoriously violent man. Allen pulled McAfee close so he could be heard over the roar of the wind. McAfee tensed. Boss, I just want to say that its an honor to be here with you, Allen shouted. You must be a really important person for them to send all these men to get you.

In 1986 two brothers in Pakistan coded the first known computer virus aimed at PCs. They werent trying to destroy anything; it was simple curiosity. They wanted to see how far their creation would travel, so they included their names, addresses, and telephone numbers in the code of the virus. They named it Brain after their computer services shop in Lahore.

Within a year the phone at the shop was ringing: Brain had infected computers around the world. At the time, McAfee had been sober for four years and gotten a security clearance to work on a classified voice-recognition program at Lockheed in Sunnyvale, California. But then he came across an article in the San Jose Mercury News about the spread of the Pakistani Brain virus in the US.

He found the idea terrifying. Nobody knew for sure at the time why these intrusions were occurring. It reminded him of his childhood, when his father would hit him for no reason. I didnt know why he did it, McAfee says. I just knew a beating could happen any time. As a boy, he wasnt able to fight back. Now, faced with a new form of attack that was hard to rationalize, he decided to do something.

He started McAfee Associates out of his 700-square-foot home in Santa Clara. His business plan: Create an antivirus program and give it away on electronic bulletin boards. McAfee didnt expect users to pay. His real aim was to get them to think the software was so necessary that they would install it on their computers at work. They did. Within five years, half of the Fortune 100 companies were running it, and they felt compelled to pay a license fee. By 1990, McAfee was making $5 million a year with very little overhead or investment.

His success was due in part to his ability to spread his own paranoia, the fear that there was always somebody about to attack. Soon after launching his company, he bought a 27-foot Winnebago, loaded it with computers, and announced that he had formed the first antivirus paramedic unit. When he got a call from someone experiencing computer problems in the San Jose area, he drove to the site and searched for virus residue. Like a good door-to-door salesman, there was a kernel of truth to his pitch, but he amplified and embellished the facts to sell his product. The RV therefore was not just an RV; it was the first specially customized unit to wage effective, on-the-spot counterattacks in the virus war.

It was great publicity, executed with drama and sly wit. By the end of 1988, he was on The MacNeil/Lehrer NewsHour telling the country that viruses were causing so much damage, some companies were near collapse from financial loss. He underscored the danger with his 1989 book, Computer Viruses, Worms, Data Diddlers, Killer Programs, and Other Threats to Your System. The reality is so alarming that it would be very difficult to exaggerate, he wrote. Even if no new viruses are ever created, there are already enough circulating to cause a growing problem as they reproduce. A major disaster seems inevitable.

In 1992 McAfee told almost every major news network and newspaper that the recently discovered Michelangelo virus was a huge threat; he believed it could destroy as many as 5 million computers around the world. Sales of his software spiked, but in the end only tens of thousands of infections were reported. Though McAfee was roundly criticized for his proclamation, the criticism worked in his favor, as he explained in an email in 2000 to a computer-security blogger: My business increased tenfold in the two months following the stories and six months later our revenues were 50 times greater and we had captured the lions share of the anti-virus market.

This ability to infect others with his own paranoia made McAfee a wealthy man. In October 1992 his company debuted on Nasdaq, and his shares were suddenly worth $80 million.

The jail cell was about 10 feet by 10 feet. The concrete floor was bare and cold, the smell of urine overpowering. A plastic milk container in the corner had been hacked open and was serving as a toilet. The detention center was located in the Queen Street police station, but everybody in Belize City called it the Pisshouse. In the shadows of his cell, McAfee could see the other inmates staring at him.

No charges had been filed yet, though the police had confiscated what they said were two unlicensed firearms on McAfees property; they still couldnt identify the chemicals they had found. McAfee said he had licenses for all his firearms and explained that the chemicals were part of his antibiotic research. The police werent buying it.

McAfee pulled 20 Belizean dollars out of his shoe and passed it through the bars to a guard. You got a cigarette? he asked.

McAfee hadnt smoked for 10 years, but this seemed like a good time to start again. The guard handed him a book of matches and a pack of Benson & Hedges. McAfee lit one and took a deep drag. He was supposed to be living out a peaceful retirement in a tropical paradise. Now he was standing in jail, holding up his pants with one hand because the police had confiscated his belt. Use this, Allen said, offering him a dirty plastic bag.

McAfee looked confused. You tie your pants, Allen explained.

McAfee fed the bag through two of his belt loops, cinched it tight, and tied a knot. It worked.

Welcome to the Pisshouse, Allen said, smiling.

McAfee lived in Silicon Valley for nearly 20 years. Outwardly he seemed to lead a traditional life with his second wife, Judy. He was a seasoned businessman whom startups turned to for advice. Stanford Graduate School of Business wrote two case studies highlighting his strategies. He was regularly invited to lecture at the school, and he was awarded an honorary doctorate from his alma mater, Roanoke College. In 2000 he started a yoga institute near his 10,000-square-foot mansion in the Colorado Rockies and wrote four books about spirituality. Even after his marriage fell apart in 2002, he was a respectable citizen who donated computers to schools and took out newspaper ads discouraging drug use.

But as he neared retirement age in the late 2000s, he started to feel like he was deluding himself. His properties, cars, and planes had become a burden, and he realized that he didnt want the traditional rich mans life anymore. Maintaining so many possessions was a constant distraction; it was time, he felt, to try to live more rustically. John has always been searching for something, says Jennifer Irwin, McAfees girlfriend at the time. She remembers him telling her once that he was trying to reach the expansive horizon.

He was also hurting financially. The economic collapse in 2008 hit him hard, and he couldnt afford to maintain his lifestyle. By 2009 hed auctioned off almost everything he owned, including more than 1,000 acres of land in Hawaii and the private airport hed built in New Mexico. He was trying in part to deter people from suing him on the assumption that he had deep pockets. He was already facing a suit from a man who had tripped on his property in New Mexico. Another suit alleged that he was responsible for the death of someone who crashed during a lesson at a flight school McAfee had founded. He figured that if he were out of the country, hed be less of a target. And he knew that, should he lose a case, it would be harder for the plaintiffs to collect money if he lived overseas.

In early 2008 McAfee started searching for property in the Caribbean. His criteria were pretty basic: He was looking for an English-speaking country near the US with beautiful beaches. He quickly came across a villa on Ambergris Caye in Belize. In the early 90s he had visited the nation of 189,000 people and loved it. (Today the population is around 356,000.) He looked at the property on Google Earth, decided it was perfect, and bought it. The first time he saw it in person was in April 2008, when he moved in.

Soon after his arrival, McAfee began to explore the country. He was particularly fascinated by stories of a majestic Mayan city in the jungle and hired a guide to go see it. Boating up a river that snaked into the northern jungle, they stopped at a makeshift dock that jutted from the dense vegetation. McAfee jumped ashore, pushed through the vines, and caught sight of a towering, crumbling temple. Trees had grown up through the ancient buildings, encasing them in roots. Giant stone faces glared out through the foliage, mouths agape. As the men walked up the steps of the temple, the guide described how the Mayans sacrificed their prisoners, sending torrents of blood down the very stairs he and McAfee were now climbing.

McAfee was spellbound. Belize is so raw and so clear and so in-your-face. Theres an opportunity to see something about human nature that you cant really see in a politer society, because the purpose of society is to mask ourselves from each other, McAfee says. The jungle, in other words, would give him the chance to find out exactly who he was, and that opportunity was irresistible.

So in February 2010 he bought two and a half acres of swampy land along the New River, 10 miles upriver from the Mayan ruins. Over the next year, he spent more than a million dollars filling in the swamp and constructing an array of thatched-roofed bungalows. While his girlfriend, Irwin, stayed on Ambergris Caye, McAfee outfitted the place like Kublai Khans sumptuous house of pleasure. He imported ancient Tibetan art and shipped in a baby grand piano even though he had never taken lessons. There was no Internet. At night, when the construction stopped, there was just the sound of the river flowing quietly past. He sat at the piano and played exuberant odes of his own creation. It was magical, he says.

He didnt like the idea of getting old, though, so he injected testosterone into his buttocks every other week. He felt that it gave him youthful energy and kept him lean. Plus, he wasnt looking for a quiet retirement. He started a cigar manufacturing business, a coffee distribution company, and a water taxi service that connected parts of Ambergris Caye. He continued to build more bungalows on his property even though he had no pressing need for them.

In 2010 McAfee visited a beachfront resort for lunch and met Allison Adonizio, a 31-year-old microbiologist who was on vacation. In the resorts dining room, Adonizio explained that she was doing postgrad research at Harvard on how plants combat bacteria. She was particularly interested in plant compounds that appeared to prevent bacteria from causing infections by interfering with the way the microbes communicated. Eventually, Adonizio explained, the work might also lead to an entire new class of antibiotics.

McAfee was thrilled by the idea. He had fought off digital contagions, and now he could fight organic ones. It was perfect.

He immediately proposed they start a business to commercialize her research. Within minutes McAfee was talking in rapid-fire bursts about how this would transform the pharmaceutical industry and the entire world. They would save millions of lives and reinvent whole industries. Adonizio was astounded. He offered me my dream job, she says. My own lab, assistants. It was incredible.

Adonizio said yes on the spot, quit her research position in Boston, sold the house she had just bought, and moved to Belize. McAfee soon built a laboratory on his property and stocked it with tens of thousands of dollars worth of equipment. Adonizio went to work trying to isolate new plant compounds that might be effective medicines, while McAfee touted the business to the international press.

But the methodical pace of Adonizios scientific research couldnt keep up with McAfees enthusiasm, and his attention seemed to wander. He began spending more time in Orange Walk, a town of about 13,000 people that was 5 miles from his compound. McAfee described it in an email to friends as the asshole of the worlddirty, hot, gray, dilapidated. He liked to walk the towns poorly paved streets and take pictures of the residents. I gravitate to the worlds outcasts, he explained in another email. Prostitutes, thieves, the handicapped For some reason I have always been fascinated by these subcultures.

Though he says he never drank alcohol, he became a regular at a saloon called Lovers Bar. The proprietor, McAfee wrote to his friends, was partial to shatteringly bad Mexican karaoke music to which voices beyond description add a disharmony that reaches diabolic proportions. McAfee quickly noticed that the place doubled as a whorehouse, servicing, as he put it, cane field workers, street vendors, fishermen, farmersanyone who has managed to save up $15 for a good time.

This was the real world he was looking for, in all its horror. The bar girls were given one Belize dollar for every beer a patron bought them. To increase their earnings, some of the women would chug beers, vomit in the restroom, and return to chug more. One reported drinking 50 beers in one day. Ninety-nine percent of people would run because theyd fear for their safety or sanity, McAfee says. I couldnt do that. I couldnt walk away.

McAfee started spending most mornings at Lovers. After six months, he sent out another update to his friends: My fragile connection with the world of polite society has, without a doubt, been severed, he wrote. My attire would rank me among the worst-dressed Tijuana panhandlers. My hygiene is no better. Yesterday, for the first time, I urinated in public, in broad daylight.

McAfee knew he had entered a dangerous world. I have no illusions, he noted in another dispatch. We are tainted by everything we touch.

Evaristo Paz Novelo, the obese Belizean proprietor of Lovers, liked to sit at a corner table and squint at his customers through perpetually puffy eyes. He admits to a long history of operating brothels and prides himself on his ability to figure out exactly what will please his patrons. Early on, he asked whether McAfee was looking for a woman. When McAfee said no, Novelo asked whether he wanted a boy. McAfee declined again. Then Novelo showed up at McAfees compound with a 16-year-old girl named Amy Emshwiller.

Emshwiller had a brassy toughness that belied her girlishness. In a matter-of-fact tone, she told McAfee that she had been abused as a child and said that her mother had forced her to sleep with dozens of men for money. I dont fall in love, she told him. Thats not my job. She carried a gun, wore aviator sunglasses, and had on a low-cut shirt that framed her ample cleavage.

McAfee felt a swirl of emotions: lust, compassion, pity. I am the male version of Amy, he says. I resonated with her story because I lived it.

Emshwiller, however, felt nothing for him. I know how to control men, she says. I told him my story because I wanted him to feel sorry for me, and it worked. All Emshwiller saw was an easy mark. A millionaire in freaking Belize, where people work all day just to make a dime? she says. Who wouldnt want to rob him?

McAfee soon realized that Emshwiller was dangerous and unstable, but that was part of her attractiveness. She can pretend sanity better than any woman I have ever known, he says. And she can be alluring, she can be very beautiful, she can be butchlike. Shes a chameleon. Within a month they were sleeping together, and McAfee started building a new bungalow on his property for her.

Visiting from Ambergris Caye, McAfees girlfriend, Jennifer Irwin, was flabbergasted. She asked him to tell the girl to leave, and when McAfee refused, Irwin left the country. McAfee hardly blames her. What I basically did was can a solid 12-year relationship for a stark-raving madwoman, he says. But I honestly fell in love.

One night Emshwiller decided to make her move. She slipped out of bed and pulled McAfees Smith & Wesson out of a holster hanging from an ancient Tibetan gong in his bedroom. Her plan, if it could be called that, was to kill him and make off with as much cash as she could scrounge up. She crept to the foot of the bed, aimed, and started to pull the trigger. But at the last moment she closed her eyes, and the bullet went wide, ripping through a pillow. I guess I didnt want to kill the bastard, she admits.

McAfee leaped out of bed and grabbed the gun before she could fire again. She ran to the bathroom, locked herself in, and asked if he was going to shoot her. He couldnt hear out of his left ear and was trying to get his bearings. Finally he told her he was going to take away her phone and TV for a month. She was furious.

I basically canned a solid 12-year relationship for a stark-raving madwoman, McAfee says. But I fell in love.

But I didnt even kill you! she shouted.

McAfee decided it was better for Emshwiller to have her own place about a mile down the road in the village of Carmelita. So in early 2011 he built her a house in the village. Many of the homes are made of stripped tree trunks and topped with sheets of corrugated iron; 10 percent have no electricity. The village has a handful of dirt roads populated with colonies of biting ants and a grassy soccer field surrounded by palm trees and stray dogs. The towns biggest source of income: sand from a pit by the river that locals sell to construction companies.

Emshwiller, who had grown up in the area, warned McAfee that the village was not what it appeared to be. She told him that the tiny, impoverished town of 1,600 was in fact a major shipment site for drugs moving overland into Mexico, 35 miles to the north. As Emshwiller described it, this village in McAfees backyard was crawling with narco-traffickers.

It was a revelation perfectly tailored to feed into McAfees latent paranoia. I was massively disturbed, he says. I fell in love with the river, but then I discovered the horrors of Carmelita.

He asked Emshwiller what he should do. She wanted me to shoot all the men in the town, McAfee says. It occurred to him that she might be using him to exact revenge on people who had wronged her, so he asked the denizens of Lovers for more information. They told him stories of killings, torture, and gang wars in the area. For McAfee, the town began to take on mythic proportions. Carmelita was literally the Wild West, he says. I didnt realize that 2 miles away was the most corrupt village on the planet.

He decided to go on the offensive. After all, he was a smart Silicon Valley entrepreneur who had launched a multibillion-dollar company. Even though he had lost a lot of money in the financial crisis, he was still wealthy. Maybe he couldnt maintain multiple estates around the world, but surely he could clean up one village.

He started by solving some obvious problems. Carmelita had no police station, so McAfee bought a small cement house and hired workers to install floor-to-ceiling iron bars. Then he told the national cops responsible for the area to start arresting people. The police protested that they were ill-equipped for the job, so McAfee furnished them with imported M16s, boots, pepper spray, stun guns, and batons. Eventually he started paying officers to patrol during their off-hours. The police, in essence, became McAfees private army, and he began issuing orders. What Id like you to do is go into Carmelita and start getting information for me, he told the officers on his payroll. Whos dealing drugs, and where are the drugs coming from?

When a 22-year-old villager nicknamed Burger fired a gun outside Emshwillers house in November 2011, McAfee decided he couldnt rely on others to get the work done; he needed to take action himself. An eyewitness told him that Burger had shot at a motorcycleit looked like a drug deal gone bad. Burgers sister said that he was firing at stray dogs that attacked him. Either way, McAfee was incensed. He drove his gray Dodge pickup to the familys wooden shack near the river and strode into the muddy yard with Emshwiller as his backup (she was carrying a matte-black air rifle with a large scope). Burger wasnt there, but his mother, sister, and brother-in-law were. Im giving you a last chance here, McAfee said, holding his Smith & Wesson. Your brother will be a dead man if he doesnt turn in that gun. It doesnt matter where he goes.

It was like he thought he was in a movie, says Amelia Allen, the shooters sister. But she wasnt going to argue with McAfee. Her mother pulled the gun out of a bush and handed it to him.

Soon, McAfee was everywhere. He pulled over a suspicious car on the road only to discover that it was filled with elderly people and children. He offered a new flatscreen TV to a small-time marijuana peddler on the condition that the man stop dealing (the guy accepted, though the TV soon broke). It was like John Wayne came to town, says Elvis Reynolds, former chair of the village council.

When I visited the village, Reynolds and others admitted that there were fights and petty theft but insisted that Carmelita was simply an impoverished little village, not a major transit point for international narco-traffickers, as McAfee alleges. The village leaders, for their part, were dumbfounded. Many were unfamiliar with antivirus software and had never heard of John McAfee. I thought he would come by, introduce himself, and explain what he was doing here, but he never did, says Feliciano Salam, a soft-spoken resident who has served on the village council for two years. He just showed up and started telling us what to do.

The fact that he was running a laboratory on his property only added to the mystery. Adonizio was continuing to research botanical compounds, but McAfee didnt want to tell the locals anything about it. In part he was worried about corporate espionage. He had seen white men in suits standing beside their cars on the heavily trafficked toll bridge near his property and was sure they were spies. Do you realize that Glaxo, Bayer, every single drug company in the world sent people out there? McAfee says. I was working on a project that had some paradigm-shifting impact on the drug world. It would be insanity to talk about it.

McAfee became convinced that he was being watched at all hours. Across the river, he saw people lurking in the forest and would surveil them with binoculars. When Emshwiller visited, she never noticed anybody but repeatedly told McAfee to be careful. She heard rumors that gang members were out to jack himrob and kill him. On one occasion, she recorded a village councilman discussing how to dispatch McAfee with a grenade. McAfee was wowed by her street smartsShe is brilliant beyond description, he saysand relished the fact that she had come full circle and was now defending him. He got himself into a very entangled, dysfunctional situation, says Katrina Ancona, the wife of McAfees partner in the water taxi business. We kept telling him to get out.

Adonizio was also worried about McAfees behavior. He had initially told her that the area was perfectly safe, but now she was surrounded by armed men. When she went to talk to McAfee in his bungalow, she noticed garbage bags filled with cash and blister packs of pharmaceuticals, including Viagra. She lived just outside of Carmelita and had never had any problems. If there was any danger, she felt that it was coming from McAfee. He turned into a very scary person, she says. She wasnt comfortable living there anymore and left the country.

George Lovell, CEO of the Ministry of National Security, was also concerned that McAfee was buying guns and hiring guards. When I see people doing this, my question is, what are you trying to protect? Lovell says. Marco Vidal, head of the Gang Suppression Unit, concurred. We got information to suggest that there may have been a meth laboratory at his location, he wrote in an email. Given the intelligence on McAfee, there was no scope for making efforts to resolve the matter. He proposed a raid, and his superiors approved it.

When members of the GSU swept into McAfees compound on April 30, 2012, they found no meth. They found no illegal drugs of any kind. They did confiscate 10 weapons and 320 rounds of ammunition. Three of McAfees security guards were operating without a security guard license, and charges were filed against them. McAfee was accused of possessing an unlicensed firearm and spent a night in the Queen Street jail, aka the Pisshouse.

But the next morning, the charges were dropped and McAfee was released. He was convinced, however, that his war on drugs had made him some powerful enemies.

He had reason to worry. According to Vidal, McAfee was still a person of interest, primarily because the authorities still couldnt explain what he was up to. The GSU makes no apologies for deeming a person in control of a laboratory, with no approval for manufacturing any substance, having gang connections and heavily armed security guards, as a person of interest, Vidal wrote.

Vidals suspicions may not have been far off. Two years after moving to Belize, McAfee began posting dozens of queries on Bluelight.ru, a drug discussion forum. He explained that he had started to experiment with MDPV, a psychoactive stimulant found in bath salts, a class of designer drugs that have effects similar to amphetamines and cocaine. When I first started doing this I accidently got a few drops on my fingers while handling a used flask and didnt sleep for four days, McAfee posted. I had visual and auditory hallucinations and the worst paranoia of my life.

McAfee indicated, though, that the heightened sexuality justified the drugs risks and claimed to have produced 50 pounds of MDPV in 2010. I have distributed over 3,000 doses exclusively in this country, he wrote. But neither Emshwiller, Adonizio, nor anyone else I spoke with observed him making the stuff. So how could he have produced 50 pounds without anyone noticing?

McAfee has a simple explanation: The whole thing was an elaborate prank aimed at tricking drug users into trying a notoriously noxious drug. It was the most tongue-in-cheek thing in the fucking world, he says, and denies ever taking the substance. If Im gonna do drugs, Im gonna do something that I know is good, he says. Im gonna grab some mushrooms, number one, and maybe get some really fine cocaine.

But anybody who knows me knows I would never do drugs, he says.

In August, McAfee and I meet for a final in-person interview at his villa on Ambergris Caye. He greets me wearing a pistol strapped across his bare chest. Guards patrol the beach in front of us. He tells me that hes now living with five women who appear to be between the ages of 17 and 20; each has her own bungalow on the property. Emshwiller is here, though McAfees attention is focused on the other women.

Excerpt from:

John McAfee Fled to Belize, But He Couldnt … – WIRED