'I'll Sell My Soul to the Devil'

"I'm under investigation by the Department of Justice, the FBI, the IRS, the National Marine Fisheries Service," Ben Stevens told KFQD-AM. "This is a feeding frenzy. Anybody who says anything, this is an environment where any accusation is . . . is automatic guilt."

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The probe has delivered low humor as well as bad behavior. In one exchange the FBI captured by wiretap, Allen handed a sexual potency pill and a sleeping pill to Kott -- who later phoned, confused and upset, after mixing them up.

"Sometimes you try to come up with an exaggeration to make a point," said Les Gara, an Anchorage Democrat. "It's hard to do that here."

Not all the indictments rose from oil money. Former representative Tom Anderson last month was sentenced to five years for taking money from a consultant for a company hoping to build a prison in Alaska; the consultant was working undercover for the FBI. The Republican lawmaker's only previous brush with the law came when his girlfriend, a fellow legislator, summoned police as they fought over bowling scores.

But Alaskans appreciate, on a personal level, the role of petroleum in their state. When vast deposits were discovered on the North Slope, the government negotiated a share of royalties that now accounts for 85 percent of the state budget. The windfall not only lets Alaska do away with personal income tax but also offers annual payments to every one of its 670,000 residents. This year's check: $1,654.

Dependence on such a mammoth scale naturally affected the dynamic in Juneau, where the Petroleum Club became the preferred site for political fundraisers.

"You get this frontier image of individualism, stereotypical bluster, self-reliance, and it plays right into corrupt politics," said historian Steve Haycox, author of several books on Alaska. " 'We don't need advice from anybody else. We don't give a damn about traditional institutions of American culture. We're just going to do it our way.' "

The bluster roared in Suite 604, where Allen and his chief lobbyist plotted strategy and dispensed cash.

"You got any hundreds?" Allen asks an associate before passing a wad to then-Rep. Vic Kohring, convicted early this month of bribery and extortion.

"I appreciate that, Bill. Thank you so much," Kohring says warmly. "What can I do at this point to help you guys? Anything? Just keep lobbying my colleagues for the governor's plan?"

The footage unspools like a Thomas Nast cartoon come to life, the grainy images punctuated by Allen's bray, the pop and squeak of a cork leaving a wine bottle and the sycophantic chortles of lawmakers vying for Veco's favor.

Veco Vice President Rick Smith, who also pleaded guilty, tried on one tape to coax Allen toward discretion. But Allen waved him off, referring to pressure from "clients."