Lifestyle
DEA agents joked about rape in WhatsApp chat before one was accused of the crime, secret files show
In a WhatsApp chat that quickly devolved into depravity, a group of U.S. Drug Enforcement Administration agents boasted about their “world debauchery tour” of “boozing and whoring” on the government’s dime. They swapped lurid images of their latest sexual conquests. And at one point they even joked about “forcible anal rape.”
Within months of that jaw-dropping exchange, an agent in the group chat was accused of that very crime.
The 2018 arrest of George Zoumberos for allegedly forcing anal sex on a 23-year-old woman in a Madrid hotel room set off alarms at the highest levels of the DEA, beginning with a middle-of-the-night phone call from a supervisor to the agency’s headquarters outside Washington. But U.S. officials never even spoke with the woman and made only cursory efforts to investigate.
The DEA has refused for years to discuss its handling of the arrest, instead telling The Associated Press in response to its questions that “the alleged misconduct in this case is egregious and unacceptable and does not reflect the high standards expected of all DEA personnel.”
The details of the case and the graphic group chat are outlined in a trove of thousands of secret law enforcement documents obtained by the AP that offer a never-before-seen window into a culture of corruption among federal narcotics agents who parlayed the DEA’s shadowy money laundering operations into a worldwide pursuit of binge drinking and illicit sex.
Zoumberos, married and 38 at the time, maintained the interaction was consensual and, after a jailhouse visit from U.S. Embassy officials, was released and flew home within hours of his arrest. A Spanish judge later dismissed the case, ruling only that the allegations were not “duly justified.” The agent eventually returned to duty with a DEA letter of reprimand chiding him for “poor judgment.”
“I told him very clearly that I didn’t want to have sex,” the woman recently told AP, which does not typically identify those who say they are victims of sexual assault.
The woman, speaking about her allegations for the first time, says her anguish led to severe panic attacks that forced her to drop out of college, and to this day she’s haunted by fears her attacker will return.
“I’m very afraid,” she said, her voice trembling over the phone. “He could try to find me or take revenge.”
“A very fun game”
Many of the documents AP obtained focus on ongoing investigations following the scandalous 2020 arrest of José Irizarry, an agent in the group chat considered the ringleader of the debauchery and perhaps the most corrupt agent in the DEA’s 50-year history.
But despite his conviction and repeated claims that dozens of others were involved in his scheme to skim millions from money laundering seizures to bankroll a junket of partying and sex, no criminal charges have been filed against any other DEA agents, supervisors or prosecutors allegedly tied to the corruption. The U.S. Justice Department did not respond to questions asking why. More than a dozen, however, have been quietly disciplined or ousted from their jobs.
Irizarry, serving a 12-year federal prison term for laundering money for the very Colombian drug cartels he was sworn to police, has maintained to AP in recent interviews that he was not a rogue agent and accountability is long overdue for the many others who joined him in a wild ride that mocked the DEA’s mission.
“You can’t win an unwinnable war,” Irizarry said before reporting to prison. “The drug war is a game. … It was a very fun game that we were playing.”
That game revolved around the DEA’s undercover money laundering operations, including one codenamed White Wash that was led by the agents in the group chat. It was shut down in 2017 before a blistering internal audit found agents’ globetrotting through the bars, strip clubs and hotels of Paris, Madrid, and the Caribbean was “unacceptable” and rife with corruption.
“The agents would set up one meeting in the city of their choice but in reality were just going on vacation,” reads an FBI investigative report in the files obtained by AP. Other records detailed how agents frequented the red-light district of Amsterdam for prostitutes and recorded “no enforcement operations” whatsoever during a weeklong trip to Norway, a country with one of the lowest crime rates in the world.
In the end, the DEA audit found the five-year operation could claim credit for just five convictions while agents shelled out $900,000 on travel, and $26,000 on meals as they partied around the world tapping a $1.9 million government fund of lawful money laundering proceeds they referred to as their “debauchery piggy bank.”
“It was all bulls—” Irizarry told the FBI, adding that White Wash was compromised from its first day by reports falsified to justify the next party spree. “It was all a novel.”
An unending, degenerate party
The WhatsApp chat, recovered during the FBI’s criminal investigation of DEA misconduct, included five DEA agents identified by AP, one of whom remains with the agency today, and hundreds of exchanges from 2017. Irizarry was the only agent willing to discuss the chat with AP.
The chat backed up many of his allegations that portrayed life in the DEA as an unending, degenerate party. Agents planned DEA travel around binge-drinking and sex with no fear their encrypted messages would ever be read by anyone else. And rather than reporting Irizarry’s misconduct, agents pressed him for X-rated images of his exploits.
“José you’re just smashing ass,” one agent wrote of Irizarry in February 2017, a month into a new U.S. presidential administration. “Nothing wrong with that under Trump. … Your good.”
Before one jaunt, an agent wrote colleagues he was “hoping you’ve organized some welcome p—y for me tomorrow when I land.”
“Tough life this war on drugs,” an agent quipped in one message.
Added another: “Think of how different our experience on the job is than most.”
Federal authorities’ extraction of the deleted chat does not identify the author of every message, but AP identified the senders through context, federal law enforcement records and interviews. AP is only identifying two of the agents who have been accused of crimes: Irizarry and Zoumberos.
Irizarry told federal authorities in 2020 that he had direct knowledge of 15 DEA agents soliciting prostitutes. He attributed the most damning exchanges in the group chat to Zoumberos, the agent briefly jailed on suspicion of sexual assault in Spain.
“Irizarry stated Zoumberos talked about forcing anal sex on hookers,” a Homeland Security Investigations report states.
References to anal sex were so common in the group chat that agents coined a term for it – pancaking – and often accompanied such mentions with an emoji of a stack of pancakes.
“I’m coming old school to pancake a few Colombia chicks,” Zoumberos texted before one 2017 trip.
There were frequent mentions of prostitutes and at least two references to assaulting them and leaving it to an informant to “clean up” the mess.
They also joked about creating a “hooker app” in which agents would sneak prostitutes past everything from a hotel front desk to DEA internal affairs while trying to avoid federal prison.
“These are some expensive bitches,” one agent wrote in an exchange that included the sharing of a prostitute’s phone number. “She’s telling me $1,000 for the night.”
Ben Greenberg, a former U.S. attorney in Miami who reviewed the messages at AP’s request, called them “beyond inappropriate.”
“In the context of such serious criminal allegations, the chats look like evidence of a crime and not just grotesque banter,” he said. “U.S. law enforcement has an obligation to fully investigate this case and to hold anyone involved in criminal activity accountable regardless of their position.”
The lewd texts came even as the DEA was making public promises to clean up its act following a highly publicized scandal in which agents participated in “sex parties” with prostitutes hired by Colombian cartels. That prompted the suspension of several agents and the 2015 retirement of then-DEA Administrator Michele Leonhart.
Misconduct in the 4,100-agent DEA has hardly been isolated. AP has tallied at least 16 agents over the past decade brought up on federal charges ranging from child pornography and drug trafficking to leaking intelligence to defense attorneys and selling firearms to cartel associates, revealing gaping holes in the agency’s supervision.
After Administrator Anne Milgram took the reins of the DEA in 2021, the agency placed new controls on how funds can be used in money laundering stings, and warned agents they can now be fired for a first offense of misconduct if serious enough, a departure from prior administrations.
“The DEA has made significant advancements in oversight measures, disciplinary processes and accountability of personnel,” the agency said in a statement to AP, adding it will “remain vigilant in our pursuit for excellence and integrity and will take decisive action should serious misconduct occur.”
Quiet casualties
The FBI and a federal grand jury in Tampa have been investigating DEA misconduct in money laundering probes for years, following a roadmap sketched out by Irizarry.
Recently, an informant who traveled the world partying with the agents – and was with Zoumberos when he met his accuser at the Madrid bar – was arrested in Colombia on a U.S. warrant for failing to pay taxes on more than $3.8 million in snitch money.
But so far, Irizarry is the only government employee to be charged. The internal records obtained by AP show the DEA disciplined or ousted at least a dozen other agents for either participating in the bacchanalia or failing to sound the alarms about it.
Among the quiet casualties was the head of the St. Louis division who retired amid allegations that he rented a New York apartment for his paramour with DEA funds. Another who quit was a veteran supervisor of the jet-setting agents who lied to the FBI about soliciting prostitutes, according to a law enforcement official who wasn’t authorized to discuss the investigation.
The DEA records also contain new details about one agent, Danielle Dreyer, who was fired last year for what the Justice Department called “outlandish behavior” during a rooftop party in 2017 in Cartagena, Colombia, attended by a half-dozen DEA agents and then-federal prosecutor Marisa Darden. An internal DEA investigation found Dreyer used ecstasy and that her antics in a hot tub included squirting breast milk on colleagues, fondling Darden’s breasts and grinding on her supervisor’s lap.
After leaving the Justice Department, Darden was confirmed by the Senate in 2022 to be the first Black woman U.S. attorney in northern Ohio. She abruptly withdrew before taking the position, however, telling AP through an attorney that she did so for personal reasons.
Law enforcement records obtained by AP show Darden had been interviewed by the Justice Department’s Office of Inspector General just days before she pulled out. Neither Darden nor her attorney responded to requests for comment.
“I didn’t want him to do this to others”
The overseas rape accusation turned out to be the beginning of the end for Zoumberos, who more than a year after his rape arrest resigned from the DEA after invoking his Fifth Amendment protection against self-incrimination in refusing to testify to the federal grand jury in Tampa.
Irizarry long considered Zoumberos a brother but in his interviews with investigators accused his former partner of a list of crimes, including that he used DEA snitch money to buy a personal boat.
“Zoumberos could do whatever he wanted and would not get caught because he was in charge of the AGEO,” Irizarry told the FBI, using the acronym for the money laundering probes, Attorney General Exempt Operations.
Zoumberos’ attorney, Raymond Mansolillo, has called Irizarry a serial liar and previously told AP that federal authorities were “looking to find a crime to fit this case as opposed to a crime that actually took place.”
On the night of the alleged sexual assault in Spain in April 2018, Zoumberos and a partner ate dinner with an informant at an Irish pub in Madrid, according to DEA records, and Zoumberos told authorities the woman later approached him at the bar.
The woman told AP that, over drinks, Zoumberos showed her smartphone photos of him fishing and playing with his dogs.
“He seemed like a good person,” she recalled.
The conversation was pleasant, she said, and she lost track of time. With the subway closed, Zoumberos made what seemed like a gentlemanly offer.
“He told me, ‘Don’t worry, you can sleep in my hotel room. We’ll watch a movie and in the morning you can catch the metro,’” she told AP. “Honestly, I was a student and I didn’t have 60 euros to pay for a taxi home.”
Around 1:30 a.m., the two walked a few blocks to Zoumberos’ government-paid hotel. The woman said she told Zoumberos she could not have sex because she was having her period. Zoumberos told the DEA that she agreed to consensual sex and was “never upset.”
About 3 a.m., the woman said, police and an ambulance arrived and found her bruised around the wrists and Zoumberos very drunk. She told AP she locked herself in the bathroom before fleeing the hotel through the fire exit in a state of utter shock.
A few hours later, the DEA chief in Spain placed an urgent telephone call to the agency’s command center outside Washington. Records show nearly three dozen DEA officials were eventually notified of Zoumberos’ arrest, including then-acting administrator Robert W. Patterson.
Within hours, the U.S. Embassy in Madrid dispatched a small delegation to visit Zoumberos in jail. What happened next is unclear. The U.S. State Department didn’t respond to repeated requests for comment and would not release any records related to its response. The DEA also denied Freedom of Information Act requests for records of Zoumberos’ arrest, citing the former agent’s privacy.
A day after his arrest, Zoumberos was released without bail with only an order to stay away from his accuser and he quickly caught an American Airlines flight home to Tampa. There’s no record of why the judge didn’t seize his passport.
Six weeks later, the case was dismissed at prosecutors’ request. Judge Enrique De la Hoz Garcia determined the allegations were not “duly justified” but didn’t elaborate, according to Spanish court records. He and prosecutors did not respond to emails seeking further comment.
Back in Tampa, the DEA opened an internal investigation and suspended Zoumberos from normal duties. But within a few months, his firearm and top-secret clearance were returned and Zoumberos resumed his job with a letter reprimanding him for showing “poor judgment.”
“As a DEA Special Agent, you are held to a higher standard of personal conduct and must take responsibility for your actions,” read the letter, which under DEA policy was to be removed automatically from the file after two years.
Zoumberos, who now lives in North Carolina, did not respond to repeated requests for comment.
Internal records and interviews show the DEA never spoke with the woman or attempted to reconstruct what happened the night of the alleged rape. The records indicate the ranking DEA official in Spain did not even have the accuser’s contact information and make no mention of any inquiries with Spanish authorities to obtain it.
The records also don’t mention any efforts to secure surveillance footage from the hotel or the results of medical examinations that the woman says would have corroborated her account.
“We dropped the ball,” a law enforcement official familiar with the matter told AP, speaking on condition of anonymity because he wasn’t authorized to discuss internal investigations.
About a year ago, the woman said she was approached by Spanish police asking if she would be willing to speak to the FBI as part of its broader probe of misconduct in the DEA.
At first, she said yes.
“I didn’t want him to do this to others,” she said.
But her willingness to speak out eventually gave way to fear of the powerful man she was confronting.
“I don’t want to reopen this,” she said. “I want to forget it.”
Lifestyle
‘Stop! That! Train!’ is Loud! Dumb! and Gay!
RuPaul and Matt Rogers in Stop! That! Train!
World of Wonder/Bleecker Street
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World of Wonder/Bleecker Street
When I tell you, reader, that the new film Stop! That! Train! plays exactly like an extended, slightly better-than-average Acting Challenge on a slightly better-than-average season of RuPaul’s Drag Race, some among you will nod sagely, and hie your butts to the theater in boisterous gaggles of girls, gays and theys. (A not-insignificant subset of you may also stop along the way to buy a box of cheap-ass blush wine so you can remove the bag and smuggle it into the theater, and I can’t stop you, that’s your own business.) Some among you will take that same report under advisement, secure in the knowledge that you’ll be fine waiting to stream it in the comfort of your own homes, where you’ve stashed enough champagne … to fill da Nile! Some among you — let’s face it, the younger, hotter, more evolved crowd that prefers your humor to grow organically out of things like characterization, cultural insight and dry wit — will grimace, and resolve to avoid it at all costs.
But the vast majority of you haven’t watched enough Drag Race to internalize its every formulaic tic, and thus won’t be able to glean any useful information from the comparison, so let me break it down for you.
Stop! That! Train! parodies ’70s disaster movies in exactly the way the 1980 film Airplane! did, which is to say: By submitting it to a ceaseless fusillade of broad, sweaty and very dumb jokes, by busting out a parade of game celebrity cameos and by deploying a just-shy-of-legally-actionable number of precisely the same gags.
The only salient difference turns out to be one of sensibility. Where Airplane!‘s humor chiefly arose from encasing its jokes in a thick layer of deadpan solemnity (think Leslie Nielsen’s Dr. “And don’t call me Shirley” Rumack), Stop! That! Train!‘s entire schtick is one of arch, winking camp (think Stephen Stucker’s Johnny, the hilariously queeny control-room worker who served as resident court jester/chaos gremlin).
So think of it as Airplane! with nothing but the Johnny jokes. In a word: drag.
Which only makes sense, as the film’s key roles are filled with queens from RuPaul’s Drag Race and those who love them. There’s Jujubee and Ginger Minj as DeeDee and Tess, two not-so-fresh-faced “train hostesses” whose low-rent rail service folds, causing them to bluff their way into jobs on a Glamazonian Express luxury bullet train.
They receive a frosty reception from the train’s trio of first-class hostesses, Amber (Brooke Lynn Hytes), Allie (Marcia Marcia Marcia, credited here as Marty Lauter) and the ridiculously spelled Ayshleiygh (Symone). Keep an eye out for Latrice Royale, Monét X Change and Angeria Paris VanMicheals while you’re at it.
If you’re finding yourself concerned that you’re eight paragraphs into this review and still don’t know what the movie’s actually about, just know that you, cookie, are not the target demographic for this particular project. But here goes: A high-speed train malfunctions on a cross-country journey and barrels into a series of mishaps involving an escaped scorpion, a haunted tunnel and a climatological event known as a “Stormaganza” while a lot of very funny people stand around making stupid, usually pun-adjacent jokes. Also: RuPaul sports a Deborah Vance wig to play U.S. President Judy Gagwell (see above, in re: pun-adjacency) and does some really stellar face-acting.
Ginger Minj and Jujubee.
World of Wonder/Bleecker Street
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World of Wonder/Bleecker Street
Also also: the great Rachel Bloom plays Donna, the only government official to understand the peril facing the train’s passengers and crew, whose dire warnings fall on the cartoonishly boorish, misogynist ears of her co-workers. (Her boss, played by Evan Mulrooney, delivers a masterclass in the kind of prideful, bullying willfulness currently stalking the halls of power; it’s the closest thing this defiantly silly little flick comes to a political statement.)
The whole thing’s over and done with in a brisk 90-minute trot, and you’ll have a very good time. Oh sure, you might find yourself squinting at the special effects, such as they are. Not because they evince the now-familiar muddiness of bad CGI, but because they instead bear the disquietingly bright, clean, sharp lines of AI slop. (Director Adam Shankman felt compelled to release a statement attempting to clarify the film’s status, which reads in part: “There are a sum total of ZERO shots conceived by AI in the movie.” [Emphasis mine, because he’d apparently already told Xtra Magazine that some AI was used, in combination with CGI.]) But in the end, the jankiness of the film’s effects only feed into the hey-queens-let’s-put-on-a-show vibe, not distract from it.
You may also find yourself wishing, as you watch drag queens trading barbs, flaring their nostrils and mime-slapping the bejeezus out of one another, that the barbs in question were better, meaner, fiercer. They’re mildly cutting when they could and should be lacerating, and they feel like place-holders. But the script’s downright neutronic joke-density ensures that you won’t be able to linger over such quibbles; so many more jokes are barrelling toward you that by the time the credits roll (do I need to tell you there’s a gag reel? Of course there’s a gag reel) the comedic signal to noise ratio will prove satisfying.
And hey, it’s Pride. You’re already out and about; why not top off your brief interlude with these cinematic queens by taking in a real drag show where IRL performers are waiting, tucked and plucked and working hard, sweating through their foundation to entertain you? Between numbers you can nip off to the bar and debate with your friends which one of the film’s dumb jokes was the absolute dumbest.
Trust me, you’ll be there a while.
Lifestyle
L.A. Affairs: Dating an L.A. braggart taught me a lesson in positive self-talk
I’m doing yoga at Palisades Park in Santa Monica with a friend, when a tall, thin guy with long hair and carrying a guitar approaches. He has that aging rock-star look, which I find … hot.
He says, “Hey, y’all, can anyone join your yoga class?”
Southern drawl? Also, hot. “Oh, it’s not a class,” I say. “Can anyone get a song on your guitar?”
He hoists the guitar and launches into a beautiful ballade. I feel the late afternoon sun on my arms, smell the ocean breeze. I’m reminded why I love Santa Monica, where I moved to from New York after my divorce, looking for a fresh start, and where I’ve remained single ever since.
After the song, the stranger, Clayton, tells us that he moved to L.A. from Georgia in his 20s. He says he got “the biggest signin’ deal of any first-time recording artist.” Now he’s working on the score for a movie with the “biggest producer attached.”
Is this true? I want it to be true. It’s hard to meet a straight guy over the age of 45 who’s successful, single … and has hair. We exchange numbers, but I can’t tell if he’s interested in me romantically. I’ve been single for so long, it’s hard to feel appealing. As a child, I knew I was special, and I knew why: because my mother told me.
But I don’t live with a praiseful parent or a supportive spouse, no. And I work at home; no office mates say, “Cute shoes!” Or “What healthy lunch choices.” I live with a praise deficit, in a vast compliment desert.
The next day Clayton calls and asks me out on a date. Over coffee, he says, “I can write an entire movie script in one week. My agent has never read such good scripts.” Later that week, over drinks, he says, “I got into the Atlanta Boys Choir on my first try.” As if it took everyone else multiple tries.
He picks me up from Los Angeles International Airport — an act of chivalry that deserves knighthood. He has his guitar in the car. Inching home on Lincoln Boulevard, he plays a song he’s composing while steering with one knee. “This song is gonna to be a huge hit,” he says.
Clayton is cool and kind and a big braggart. When I mention that my stomach is bothering me, he says, “I’m gonna cook you the best dinner you’ve ever eaten!”
This brag worries me. I worked as a food critic in New York City. There’s no way Clayton’s very seared salmon with watermelon radish can top a Jean-Georges chocolate mousse.
I finally snap: “Clayton! No one talks this way. You don’t hear me saying, I don’t know, ‘I scored so high on those standardized tests in high school, my score went right off the chart. They couldn’t even keep my score on the chart, that’s how high I scored.’ ”
And then I stop. I had totally forgotten about my excellent test scores. They used to give me a lot of confidence, but I never talk about standardized test scores now because I’m an adult. But since I don’t, they have disappeared from my story of myself. I am more versed in my deficits than my strengths these days.
Clayton is on to something. That night, I call my yoga friend. “We need to start bragging like Clayton,” I say. “But also, keep our friends.”
We hatch a plan: We will start a weekly bragging practice. It will be like a meditation practice but more aggressive. Bragging is not like some tepid self-affirmation; it’s competitive. It’s like my mother.
We decide to begin that Saturday. We have plans to work in the morning, walk to the Korean spa for a scrub, then go to a friend’s improv show where Clayton will join us. As we’re walking to the spa, my bragging buddy is supposed to start. I see her struggling. “Uh. I am really good at … uh, walking down the street?” she says.
“You do have a nice walk,” I say. “And me? I’m really good at, um … It’s so cool how I’m always carrying a cup of coffee around everywhere I go. Like I’m just so comfortable here … in the crosswalk … drinking coffee?”
Bragging is not easy. After a lifetime of being pleasant, polite and self-effacing, trying to brag is like taking a final you haven’t studied for, given in a foreign language.
We arrive at the spa late, but they charge us for the whole hour anyway. After the scrub, I realize I left my phone at home and can’t call Clayton with the improv’s address. I feel bad about all this, but I have made a commitment to brag, so I have to see how these snafus reflect positively on me.
Then I do see it. “You know, I pack a lot in one day,” I say. This is true, but without the bragging practice, I would not have seen it.
My friend and I stick with our bragging practice for six months, longer than the relationship with Clayton lasts. But the experience left a positive impact.
Later, I have plans to travel back to New York City, and my lodging falls through. A friend says, “You have nowhere to stay. You should probably cancel your trip.”
This seems like reasonable advice, but after all that bragging, it sounds off. Is he suggesting that even though I lived in New York for 20 years, I don’t have any friends there I can crash with? I say, “A lot of people want me to stay with them.”
This brag becomes true. I wind up splitting my time between my friend Ben’s on the Lower East Side and Katie’s on the Upper West. As I’m dragging my suitcase down the subway stairs at midnight to switch apartments, I think, “This was a stupid plan.”
But then I hear a Southern drawl in my head. I look around the empty station and say, “I am good at dating, because I learn something valuable from everyone I meet.”
I track down Clayton this spring to make sure he’s OK with being written about. He’s back in Georgia, with “a great new band,” he tells me. About the story, he says, “Go ahead. If you got it, flaunt it.”
“Thanks,” I say. “But my story is about you, um, kind of being a big braggart.”
He pauses and then tells me that when he was young, he had a chance to play guitar with an older, impressive musician. He denigrated his own skills. The older man stopped him, saying that how you talk about yourself becomes your reality. Clayton has been making an effort to speak positively about himself ever since.
It’s easy to think guys in L.A. are egotistical or narcissistic. But this was a reminder that men struggle with these issues too. We’re all out here doing our best, trying to find someone to love.
The author is an author, journalist and budding stand-up comedian in Santa Monica. She shared a version of this essay at the L.A. Affairs Live storytelling event in April. Find her on Instagram at @wendypariscomedy.
L.A. Affairs chronicles the search for romantic love in all its glorious expressions in the L.A. area, and we want to hear your true story. We pay $400 for a published essay. Email LAAffairs@latimes.com. You can find submission guidelines here. You can find past columns here.
Lifestyle
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