Brian Wizard is a literary rebel with a clause:
  "Read My Stories, they are FREE"
   (plus postage and handling when applicable)

(As copied from the Western Austrialia Ministry of Fair Trade's e-zine Fair Bytes, Issue 2, May 2000)

When I received an unsolicited e-mail allegedly from Mohammed Abacha, son of later General Sani Abacha, asking for my assistance in retrieving five hundred million looted U.S. dollars for a twenty-five percent reward, excitement raced through me. I requested more information. A second e-mail provided me with a Nigerian phone number. A purported Nigerian attorney told me that I would receive twenty installments of twenty-five million dollars, deposited into my bank account biweekly. All I needed to
do was pay twenty-five thousand dollars in expenses and up-front fees.

Over the next five months I received:

I was soon to be on the list of the richest people in the world! All I had to do was send money to these Nigerian contacts, allowing them to pay for hotels, airfares, gifts, and processing fees.

For the twelve hundred dollars sent, I received great Nigerian 419 Scam souvenir wallpaper. My favorite is a faxed copy of a Certificate of Ownership to 25 million U.S. dollars. All faxes proudly displayed official signatures, stamps and seals.

I asked each contact what he knew about the other contacts. The unanimous response warned me that all other contacts were impostors.

My investigation would be incomplete without a hands-on involvement in this process. I had to go meet with the Nigerians. The two proposed rendezvous sites I chose were London and Amsterdam.

In London, the Nigerians communicated by cell phones, and never provided a physical address for contact. We met in my hotel's bar. They showed me ten stacks of U.S. $100 bills. Each bill had a smudge on its face that I was told would prevent detection by a scanning device as it passed through customs. This money, plus two million more that was waiting in a security company's vault, would be mine within 24 hours if I would buy the special chemical needed to remove the smudges and pay the release fee for the other two million dollars.

I asked to cut open one of the plastic-wrapped stacks of money so I could fan through it. I believed I saw ten stacks of copy paper with a $100 bill topping each stack. The Nigerians did not allow me a hands-on inspection.

I asked, "Why not buy the chemical and pay the fee out of this money?"

They could not spend the money they had before removing the smudges.

I predicted that if I gave them money, they would simply disappear into the London crowd.

In Amsterdam, a suitcase containing an alleged five million U.S. dollars had my name on it. Unfortunately, the money was useless due to crayon marks scribbled over the serial numbers. Only a special "chemical solution" could remove the crayon. The in-room hot tub held such a chemical solution. A few whisks in the solution removed the crayon marks.

A deposit into my bank account of thirty-two million U.S. dollars within seventy-two hours would take place after I paid a membership fee of $75,000 U.S. to join the "Secret Bank." I could have an immediate release of up to one million U.S. dollars within twenty-four hours after I paid the fee and filed my application.

I asked, "Take a check? It will be good in ten days."

They wanted cash. Just like the stacks of U.S. $100 bills that sat on the dresser. This money was a recently paid fee from a Canadian woman.

As I stalled for time, trying to find a suitable end to my investigation, the Nigerian's cell phone rang. The conversation was not for my ears, but due to the loud, panicky voice of the caller, I could not miss her words:

"Where's my money!"

You can read the whole story of Brian Wizard's investigation in his novel "Nigerian 419 Scam "Game Over!". More information about the scam is available on the 419 Coalition webpage at http://home.rica.net/alphae/419coal/.