John McAfee was an eccentric computer programmer, famous for inventing anti-virus software as well as embracing a libertarian lifestyle of guns, drugs and a deep dislike of authority. Suspected of murdering his neighbor in Belize, he was finally arrested in Spain on US tax evasion charges in 2020, and committed suicide in prison last year, at age 75.
In his final years, I was the last author to speak to him, in the hopes that we could collaborate on his autobiography. Instead, we parted ways in 2020, leaving me with transcripts that could be summed up as his last will and testament. I have compiled them together in my new book, “No Domain: The John McAfee Tapes” (Post Hill Press), out now.
One of the most consistent threads running through McAfee’s life was his love of women. This, after all, was a man who’d been married at least four times and had multiple girlfriends everywhere he went. He once boasted that he had fathered in the region of 47 children. On my second call with him, I asked him how it all began, growing up in Salem, Va.
McAfee: I kissed my first woman when I was 8 years old. The girl who sat beside me in class was the daughter of a dentist, and I remember that she had these blue jeans that, when she folded them up, you could see the Scottish plaid lining on the inside. I thought they were the cutest. I thought she was cuter.
One afternoon, I followed her home through the woods between school and where she lived. We all walked home; it was this tiny little town. I ran up to her, kissed her on the cheek, and then ran away. Good God, that was the most thrilling moment of my life up until that time — and perhaps even now. Even in my most drugged-out states in later life, I don’t think I’ve ever recaptured the divinity of what I experienced that day. She was just an innocent victim in a monumental moment in someone else’s life. A twisted moment of molestation provided a moment of enlightenment for John McAfee, and regardless of what people might think of that, I will not back away from that.
In the ’70s, McAfee was in high demand as a genius programmer, traveling the world to places like England, Germany and Brazil, where he told me he especially liked the women …
McAfee: Let me tell you that all the women in Rio are like Greek goddesses. That would be fine if it wasn’t for the fact that all the men are like Greek gods. You’ve got them to compete with, and the only way to do so was by playing on the fact that you are an American with a lot of money. Consequently, my relationship with women changed somewhat in Brazil in the sense that now I had to shine a lot on those features about myself that would make these women want to f–k me rather than the Greek god beside me at the bar.
After striking it rich with his proprietary software and moving to Belize in 2008, McAfee took his womanizing to the next level. After his partner, Jennifer Irwin, left him, McAfee ultimately holed himself up in a heavily fortified jungle compound, a pariah in the eyes of the locals who were suspicious of this white man in their midst, with a harem of young local women. He said one of them, a girl called Amy, tried to kill him on a number of occasions.
McAfee: At the outset, I wanted to identify these women and their characteristics. And very quickly, I identified the ones who would both steal your wallet and slash your throat so that you couldn’t tell anybody. There were certainly a few of those. After a while, I had identified four who I thought were 99 percent trustworthy and who were smart enough to realize that by being nice to me, they’d get a lot more money than they would by stealing whatever was in my pocket that day.
When you’re a rich, hospitable man living in a house with a bunch of young, poor women, that’s going to happen. On one occasion, she tried to slash my throat with a straight razor. I’d never had one of those against my throat before. She had this blade against my throat, and I could feel the blood starting to run down my neck. In that moment, I thought, this is a f–king serious situation. I could feel the incredible slicing power of that straight blade, and I couldn’t move away in either direction without getting cut wide open. I genuinely thought that she was going to kill me right there and then. I leaned back against the wall, put my hands up in the air, and calmly said, “Do it, Amy.” Just like that. And she looked at me for a second and started laughing out loud, saying, “You … are special.”
On his return from Belize in 2012 to Miami, with no money and just the clothes on his back, McAfee bounced straight into a relationship with Janice, a former prostitute he passed in the street who became his wife in 2016. He told me how they met.
McAfee: On my way to a café, I had seen Janice and another white girl, both clearly hookers, walking towards me. I didn’t pay much attention, but as Janice passed me, I did notice what I considered to be a 10 out of 10 ass on her. I’m an ass man. That’s a fact. For once in my life, I just wanted a good cup of coffee and a good night’s sleep in an air-conditioned hotel room with a soft feather mattress. Nevertheless, the first thing that came out of Janice’s mouth was, “Would you like your d–k sucked?”
“I am sorry, no. I do not want my d–k sucked.”
“Can I have a cigarette, then?”
I lit her a cigarette, and she and her friend sat down beside me.
“Are you girls out looking for old men to drug and roll? Because if you are, I’m not into that tonight,” I told them.
“Oh, we wouldn’t bother using drugs,” she said, which I thought was a particularly smart comeback. After a couple of hours of talking, I leaned over and said, “Can you get rid of your friend?’
Her friend evaporated. And as she did, I realized that I really did like this woman. We spent the night together. We didn’t have sex. I didn’t want sex. I’d had enough sex —even in a Guatemalan prison, where you can actually get some pretty nice chicks because all the pimps are incarcerated. Now, I just wanted someone to cuddle and to cuddle me.
We’ve been together ever since, even though, during that night while I slept, she was trying to figure out how to open the closet door, which creaked, so that she could steal my wallet! In the end, she didn’t — and I’m glad. It would have ruined everything for me.
In the later days of our talks, in July 2020, McAfee was on the run from the law, living in a hotel in Barcelona, and increasingly paranoid. Shady-looking characters came and went in the background during our video chats. Various contractors hammered and drilled. Particleboard walls appeared as we talked. On one occasion, Janice brought him a cup of coffee, and he insisted that she drink it first. I asked him about the extreme suspicion.
McAfee: She has tried to harm me before, my friend. I can trust nobody — not even myself. The first time she tried to poison me was back in 2013. She wasn’t trying to kill me. The poison was only intended to incapacitate me to the extent that I could be collected. But, in the end, she couldn’t go through with it.
At some other point, she hid her pimp and his gang in our attic in Tennessee. I came into the house and felt that something was wrong. In America, I carry a gun at all times: bedroom, bathroom, in the shower. I went into the bedroom, and I heard shuffling in the attic. Sometimes raccoons got in the attic, but this sounded bigger than a raccoon. So I just pulled my gun and went bam! bam! bam! through the ceiling. Security is worth more to me than the integrity of any house.
When I suggested to him that his relationship with Janice was different from all of the others he’d been in over the years, McAfee paused, sighed and embarked on one of his more philosophical musings, during one of our last calls in July 2020.
McAfee: I am now an old man who has to rely on my wife Janice to be my eyes and ears. I can’t always trust my perception, mainly because I still think like a 30-year-old. I remember when I was at an event in London a few years ago. People were crowding around me — young, insanely hot women still throw themselves at me, God knows why. In my mind, I think these women actually want me. At no point do I think, “Why would a 20-year-old goddess want anything to do with a 75-year-old man with bad knees?” At no point do I think, “This doesn’t feel right. Who has sent you?”
However, Janice does. She knows every f–king move any woman on the planet can possibly pull. She just stands there, observing. On that trip to London, this chick came up to me, put her room key in my hand, and whispered in my ear. Janice removed the key from my pocket, politely handed it back, and said, “He won’t be needing that.”
I’d been thinking with my ego, my d–k. Janice was thinking, “This girl might look like an angel, but really she’s a she-devil with a f–king icepick.” To that extent, Janice and I are the perfect couple. We are truly in this together until the very end.
Mark Eglinton is a bestselling author and biographer. Follow him on Twitter: @MarkEglinton
