Suspect who allegedly told of anthrax called honest family man

Robert Macy

Thursday, Feb. 19, 1998 | 9:31 a.m.

LAS VEGAS - The FBI portrays William Job Leavitt Jr. as a microbiologist with labs in two countries, a man who boasted to an informant that he was toting "military grade anthrax" in a bunch of flight bags in the trunk of a Mercedes.

Leavitt's lawyer describes a law-abiding family man who runs a fire-protection business in a horsey hamlet in rural Nevada.

All the public has heard from Leavitt himself in response to charges he took part in a hazily-defined anthrax plot was a two word answer to a federal magistrate. Asked Thursday if he understood the charges against him, the slight, bespectacled 47-year-old said: "Not exactly."

Leavitt is charged along with Ohio resident Larry Wayne Harris, 46, with conspiring to possess the deadly germ-warfare agent anthrax. The FBI affidavit describing the alleged offenses doesn't ascribe any political motive to Leavitt, but notes his co-defendant claimed membership in the white supremacist group Aryan Nations.

"He's a level-headed business guy, not a radical," retorts Lamond Mills, the former U.S. Attorney who represents Leavitt.

Leavitt is married with three children and runs his own fire-protection business, according to Mills, who said he has known his client for 20 years. The lawyer couldn't give details about the business.

The FBI calls Leavitt a microbiologist and in its affidavit, describes him trying to make a deal with an informant to get equipment to test anthrax he was allegedly toting in leather flight bags and a white foam ice chest. Leavitt and Harris talked to the informant about a project to test a device that electronically deactivates viruses and Leavitt said he had "military grade" anthrax, according to the FBI affidavit.

The FBI says Leavitt reportedly owns microbiological laboratories in his hometown of Logandale, Nev., and Frankfurt, Germany.

Leavitt's mother left her Las Vegas home without speaking to reporters Thursday. In Logandale, about 80 miles up Interstate 15, his one-story brick home sat empty, two days of newspapers lying in the drive, the doorway flanked by two white plastic lawn chairs and a well-used playpen.

There's no obvious sign of a biological lab in Logandale, a small community of scattered houses dotted with horses, riders and horse traders in the Moapa Valley near an arm of Lake Mead.