Cyperpath Posed as Iraq War Soldier

by Harriet Alexander

(U.K.) Sarah Cook thought she had met someone special. The mother of two children had done what many lonely Britons do, and registered with an internet dating site.

Within weeks of entering a new online world of flirtation and romance, she met a US army sergeant serving in Iraq. They would chat online almost daily, swapping stories about his life on base with hers in a West Country town, and over the next 18 months their relationship deepened.

Mrs Cook, 52, was fascinated by his stories of dodging bombs, coping with explosions and living in the Iraqi desert. She would not say she was falling in love, but she was excited by this intriguing soldier with whom she felt she had a genuine connection — so much so that she was willing to help him financially. But the charming American was not what he appeared. A few days ago, police in Ghana arrested Maurice Asola Fadola, 31, the man suspected of posing as the soldier and conning Mrs Cook out of £271,000.

Her case is thought to be the most serious example of a new kind of fraud, with international con men preying on emotionally vulnerable westerners. Police estimate that Britons are losing hundreds of millions of pounds through internet dating sites in “romance frauds”. Mrs Cook (not her real name) does not appear a gullible or foolish woman. Yet, like other victims of the frauds, she was slowly and skilfully drawn in to a web of deceit woven by a resourceful and apparently talented liar. Over months of online chatting she felt that she was really getting to know the American soldier, who went by the name of Steven Westmore.

He told her he was a year younger than her, and was ready to leave the army. He had a house in Texas, his son was studying medicine and his wife had died in a car crash — a common line used by such con men, police say. He sent her pictures depicting himself as a rugged, stetson-wearing American. She hoped they could meet once he left Iraq. But when that time came, Steven told her things had gone wrong. “We never spoke on the phone, as he told me they weren’t allowed mobile phones on army bases,” she said. “But one day, over instant messenger, Steven told me he had a problem. He was preparing to leave and had sent his luggage back to the States with a friend, a diplomat from Trinidad, who had to travel via Ghana.

“But the Ghanaian authorities had impounded Steven’s luggage, and so I had to call Steven’s friend in Ghana to sort it out. And it turned out the friend needed £2,300 to release the luggage. “I relayed this information to Iraq. And Steven said, 'I can’t do anything from here in the desert. Can you help?’ ” Mrs Cook took the first step down what proved to be a slippery slope to financial disaster. She sent the money to Ghana via MoneyGram on the promise that she would be repaid once Steven was back home.

But this was just the beginning. Next day she was told there were further problems and more money was needed: £20,000. Steven let Mrs Cook know that inside the suitcases was $8 million (£5.2 million) he had smuggled out of Iraq. Most people, however kindly disposed, would surely have baulked at this point and, with hindsight, Mrs Cook can see that for herself. But although her husband knew she had been on a dating website, the couple operated a “don’t ask, don’t tell” approach within their marriage and Mrs Cook had told no one about her online relationship with Steven. There was nobody to make her see common sense.

“I just thought, 'Oh no, what have I got myself into here?’ ” Mrs Cook said last week, wiping away tears. “I wanted to get my money back, and you end up thinking, well, if there is $8 million there, it doesn’t matter having to spend money as I will get my money back once the suitcases are released.” Now dealing solely by telephone with the contact in Ghana, who told her that Steven was without internet access in Iraq, Mrs Cook became embroiled in a lengthy process to get her money back. Like a gambler trying to recoup her losses, the amount she was willing to spend to try to solve the problems rose — £100,000 for “legal fees”, £40,000 for “customs costs” and many thousands more. She extended her overdraft, sold shareholdings and drained her retirement savings. Piece by piece, she dismantled the product of years of abstemious living — all the while concealing the truth from her husband, whose financial affairs were separate.

Mrs Cook sometimes found it hard to believe the intrigue in which she was caught up: a world of five-digit money transfers to Africa, suitcases full of money and a constantly evolving cast of characters, helpers of Steven, all needing her help to overcome one problem after another. She was then persuaded by the “diplomat” to travel to Ghana — without telling anybody — where she hoped to conclude the protracted attempts to get her money back. “I was really worried — I’d never been to Africa before,” Mrs Cook recalled. “But the diplomat told me it would speed things up, and I’d get my money back. “I paid £500 for a 'visa’ and then someone just came to collect me from the airport and took me straight through customs — I suppose people at the airport were in on it, too.”

She was driven to a lavish house on the outskirts of the capital, Accra. Guarded by rott­weilers, it was a gold-plated and marble villa, complete with a gym, a swimming pool and a wardrobe bursting with unworn designer clothes. Police suspect the property belonged to Fadola, who posed as the diplomat during Mrs Cook’s visit. The house may well have been built and furnished with the funds she sent to Ghana. “I was scared at first,” she said. “When I look back, it’s terrifying thinking about what could have happened when I went there. I could have been kidnapped. It doesn’t bear thinking about.”

She stayed for two nights and it was on her return that Fadola, describing himself as a business associate, came into the picture under his own name, with police alleging that he offered to travel to Britain to pay back Mrs Cook in person. So she supported his visa application. “And that was another £10,000 for the paperwork,” she said, managing a faint smile. “I sent him a payslip; an electricity bill; a council tax bill; household documents — all those things you’re not supposed to send out. “I just wanted to get my money back, and then maybe finally meet Steven — who I believed was still in Iraq.”

In fact, Fadola’s attempts to seek a British visa were his undoing. It disclosed his true identity to the Serious Organised Crime Agency (SOCA), which was working with the Ghanian police in connection with the case of a disabled woman who was persuaded to sell her house and send funds to Ghana. One night in March, the police knocked on Mrs Cook’s door and asked her if she knew a Maurice Asola Fadola. Sitting in the London offices of SOCA last week, Mrs Cook said she still struggled to come to terms with how the situation escalated.

“You look back and think, 'How could I be so stupid?’ I’d never heard about these romance frauds before,” she said. “I thought that there was this poor man stuck in Ghana because of something Steven had done. And it had been passed over to me to help him. I thought it was all my fault.”

Fadola is in prison in Ghana facing questioning over money laundering and passport fraud. SOCA officers went to the country last month to help mount a “sting” operation and caught him when he went approached officials to access some money they had sent. “He showed no emotion,” said one of the SOCA officers. “I just said 'Hello Steven’ as he was led away in handcuffs.” The case is not an isolated one. “At first we thought it was just people sending £50 here or there,” said Colin Woodcock, the head of SOCA’s fraud department, “but some people are being robbed of hundreds of thousands.”

More and more cases of romance fraud are being discovered. In August last year, Philip Hunt, 58, threw himself under a train after losing £82,000 in a romance fraud. He had met a Nigerian girl on the internet, who convinced him to spend the money with promises of starting a life together. “These people are out to get people when they are very vulnerable and at a low ebb. They’re in there like vultures,” Mr Hunt’s former partner told the inquest into his death.

It was only recently that Mrs Cook told her husband what had happened, admitting the full extent of her losses in a telephone call. She did not want to discuss his reaction. Police hope to recover some of the £271,000 that she lost. “I don’t know if I’ll get the money back,” she said. “I had saved all my life, worked hard, gone without, planning for my retirement. But I don’t think that is going to happen now. “I just feel so stupid.”


original article found here

Mother + Daughter Team Runs Romance Scam

(COLORADO, U.S.) A mother and daughter in Adams County are accused in an internet dating scam that cost victims more than $1 million.

An indictment from the Colorado Attorney General accuses Tracy and Karen Vasseur of being part of a “Nigerian internet romance scam” involving people pretending to be military members serving in Afghanistan.

The fake soldiers would start relationships with women then ask for money for travel and other expenses.

Tracy, 41, and her mother, Karen, 73, live in Brighton. They allegedly tricked women into relationships and accepted payments via wire over a three-year period.

Six of their victims live in Colorado.

original article here

Romance Scammers Pose as U.S. Military to Entrap Women

by Charlotte Gill and India Sturgis

(U.K.) As she sat down in front of her laptop to read the latest messages from her online admirers, Elana Brown felt a flutter of excitement. Divorced for seven years, she had been persuaded by a friend to sign up to the Jewish lonely hearts website, JDate.

For two months, she’d logged on and chatted to several potential suitors, but each had come to nothing. But today, as she checked the messages in her inbox, one in particular caught her eye.

‘It was from a doctor in the U.S. Army serving in Afghanistan,’ recalls Elana, a 47-year-old learning support assistant who lives with her sons, aged 17 and 20, in Ruislip, West London. ‘His name was Sergeant Terry Scott. He liked my picture and said he would like to get to know me.

‘He told me that he had a nine-year-old son, that his wife had died in a car crash two years earlier, and he was looking for love again. It was a heartfelt message and he seemed a genuinely nice guy.’

Elana had no hesitation in tapping out a reply. ‘He replied almost straight away and we began emailing each other every day. After a week, we were getting on so well that Terry asked for my phone number and he started calling me.

‘His voice was lovely — he had a deep American accent and sounded kind. He would ask me how I was and about my two boys. We could chat for ages, sometimes four hours at a time. I couldn’t believe how lucky I was to hit it off with someone I’d just met online. Looking back, I should have been more cautious. But I suppose, because I was looking for love, I wanted so much to believe in him.’

Certainly, there was nothing to suggest that Terry was anything but genuine.

‘He sent me lots of photos of himself in the Army. He told me about how hard life was in Afghanistan. In my profile, I’d written that I was looking for someone who was manly, but also able to help out around the home. He told me he’d take care of me, that he’d come to England and marry me. He said he wanted to make me happy.’

It was a whirlwind romance: just a few weeks later, Terry announced that he loved Elana and wanted to meet her. ‘He said he looked forward to meeting my sons and that we would all be one big family. It may sound naive now, but I believed him.’

Then, just three weeks into their relationship, Terry made a request which should have set alarm bells ringing.

‘He said that one of his soldiers had been shot, and he and his friends were trying to raise money so he could be sent to Russia for treatment. He asked me for £300 towards it.

‘I believed him, but I told him I just couldn’t afford the money. He then started bombarding me with texts and phone calls, saying they were desperate for the money. Terry promised that I would get the money back. He spoke to me so nicely that I just thought: “OK, I’ll give him the money.”

‘I transferred it by Western Union, as Terry had requested. He was so grateful and assured me he would pay the money back as soon as he could.

‘He promised he was resigning from the Army and would get a $300,000 (£190,000) payout. He said it was his Army pension. Then he would come to England and marry me. I was even sent official-looking letters from the U.S. Army stating that money I had sent was being used to get security clearance so Terry could leave the Army. They looked genuine to me.’

After that, Terry came up with endless reasons for needing more money. He wasn’t getting paid by the Army; he needed funds for a business he had set up. Blinded by love, Elana sent more cash. In the two months they were in contact, she parted with nearly £10,000.

Of course, she never did get to meet the man of her dreams. She was, in fact, the latest victim of an online dating scam targeting vulnerable older women.

Earlier this month, the National Fraud Authority announced £2.5 million has been stolen by online dating con-men in the past six months alone.

‘Fraudsters who take advantage of online dating sites are a particularly sinister lot,’ says the NFA’s chief executive, Dr Bernard Herdan. ‘They use clever psychological tricks to gain the confidence and affections of legitimate site users. They are attentive. When a romance fraudster has gained a person’s trust, that’s when they begin to ask for money.’

Increasing numbers of women, such as Elana, are falling victim to this kind of fraud — in particular to criminals in West Africa posing as U.S. soldiers. The U.S. Embassy in London received 500 phone calls and 2,000 emails reporting various types of internet scam last year.

Many victims feel too embarrassed and ashamed to confess they’ve been duped.

In a survey last month, the Office for Fair Trading found that 39 per cent of people who had been tricked in the past year did not report it to the authorities.

‘I can’t believe how foolish I was now, but I was in love with this man and I thought I was giving him money to help him resign from the Army so we could be together,’ says a heartbroken Elana.

‘I used all my £600 savings, took out a loan and had to remortgage my home to scrape together the money. But Terry promised I’d get my money back with interest. I thought we were going to spend our lives together, so why wouldn’t I get it back?’

When her elder son tried to warn her, she rowed furiously with him: ‘I wouldn’t listen. And all for a man I’d never met.’

After taking a last payment of £2,600 from Elana, Terry promised that he would repay the money within days, then fly to the UK to be with her. But the money never appeared. And neither did he.

The truth dawned on Elana when ‘Terry’ suddenly ceased all contact. ‘My son was right,’ she says tearfully. ‘I had been duped. I cried every night. I was a mess.’

A few months later, she heard the story on Crimewatch of a woman who had lost £45,000 to a Nigerian fraudster posing as a U.S. soldier and realised her story was virtually identical. Elana then contacted Action Fraud, the national fraud reporting centre, and investigators told her the payments she had made went to internet scammers in Nigeria and the UK.

By then, the fraudsters were long gone, along with any hope she would get any of her money back. A year on, she is working longer hours and paying back £200 a month to get rid of the debt.

‘Looking back, I see how naive I was. These fraudsters are so clever. I am not usually a silly person who easily trusts people, and yet here I was being conned.’

But it’s too late for divorcee Kate Roberts. The 47-year-old gave £80,000 to a gang of Nigerian fraudsters posing as a lonely U.S. soldier between October 2009 and July 2010. ‘I was taken in,’ she says. ‘Aside from losing the money, I feel I’ve lost the love of my life. I know he wasn’t real — but the feelings were real to me.’

Kate, a mother of three, had to sell her house to pay off crippling debts after taking out credit cards, loans and borrowing from family and friends in order to send money to the virtual ‘lover’ who contacted her on the Friends Reunited Dating website in October 2009.

‘Scammers carefully target and then tap into people’s wants, needs and vulnerabilities,’ explains psychologist Anjula Mutanda, who has worked with knowthenet.org.uk. ‘Initially, online dating fraudsters spend time emotionally grooming the person. They show interest, gain trust — reeling the person in before hitting them with the sting.’

Despite the huge rise in cases of online dating fraud, awareness among the 2.5 million women who internet-date is alarmingly low.

Elana is keen to stress that the victims are not stupid: ‘I’d heard of scams, but I never thought I would fall for one. You may think that this could never happen to you, but I am proof that it can.’

original article found here