On Friday, October 31, 2025, the quiet hum of a Tampa federal courtroom was interrupted by a dramatic turn: Judge Christopher Tuite issued an arrest warrant for Jordan Goudreau, a former Green Beret whose name has become synonymous with a failed attempt to topple Venezuela’s government in 2020. Goudreau, age 49, failed to appear for the third day of his bond hearing, prompting the judge to act after waiting for half an hour. The story, which winds its way through international intrigue, personal betrayal, and the shadowy world of mercenaries, continues to grip both the legal system and the public imagination.
According to the Associated Press, Goudreau’s legal troubles began in earnest in 2024 when he was arrested on weapons smuggling charges connected to the infamous coup attempt—an audacious plot to train a mercenary force of Venezuelan army deserters in Colombia and invade Venezuela. The mission, intended to spark a popular rebellion and remove President Nicolas Maduro, was exposed by journalists two days before the incursion. The result? Several would-be fighters lost their lives, and two of Goudreau’s fellow U.S. Special Forces veterans landed in a Venezuelan prison.
After spending several weeks in jail, Goudreau was released on bond, thanks to filmmaker Jen Gatien, who pledged her $2 million Manhattan apartment as collateral. Gatien, who had registered a Florida production company with Goudreau in 2021, was described in court records as his girlfriend—a label she denied in testimony, insisting they were only close friends. For two years, Goudreau lived with Gatien while attending the New York Film Academy, and their partnership took on a new dimension when she began filming a documentary about the failed raid, titled "Men of War." The film, released last month, paints a largely sympathetic portrait of Goudreau and his ill-fated mission.
But the relationship between Goudreau and Gatien soured dramatically in the weeks leading up to the bond hearing. As reported by the Associated Press, Gatien accused Goudreau in court filings of deceit, financial coercion, and threatening behavior. She testified that he had reneged on a promise—described by prosecutors as an “undisclosed side agreement”—to pledge his reserves of cash, gold coins, and cryptocurrency as further security for her financial risk as his sole bond guarantor. Instead, according to Gatien, she received only “broken promises for the past year.”
Gatien’s testimony painted a picture of a man under increasing pressure, allegedly sending angry, sometimes incoherent texts filled with profanity and threats. In one message, Goudreau declared, “I’m not going back to prison,” a statement prosecutors interpreted as a clear sign he intended to flee. “I believe he intends one day to leave this country,” Gatien told the court, noting that Goudreau had previously lived on a sailboat in Mexico. Despite being required to wear an ankle monitor, a probation officer testified that the device remained in the Tampa area, where Goudreau had been living and undergoing equine-assisted therapy supervised by the U.S. Department of Veterans Affairs.
Goudreau’s attorney, Marissel Descalzo, expressed frustration and confusion at her client’s absence, telling Judge Tuite, “I’m at a loss. I have not spoken to him as to why he’s not here.” The legal drama was further complicated by the involvement of an Oklahoma couple, Brande and Jason Woolems, who were scheduled to testify for the government. The couple had been storing some of Goudreau’s belongings, including two assault rifles—an apparent violation of a court order prohibiting Goudreau from possessing firearms while on bond. In a sworn affidavit, the Woolemses claimed Goudreau pressured them to make false accusations against Gatien to help block her from withdrawing her support as his bond guarantor. When they refused, he allegedly called them “Judas” and accused them of betrayal.
The failed 2020 operation, quickly dubbed the “Bay of Piglets” by the media, has become a cautionary tale of amateurish attempts at regime change. According to the Associated Press, critics have pointed out that the Trump administration’s approach to Venezuela was often haphazard, with the failed raid serving as a prime example. In the years since, those criticisms have only grown louder, especially as the U.S. has increased military activity in the region, including deadly strikes on suspected drug-smuggling boats and covert actions authorized by the CIA.
Goudreau himself has reemerged as a polarizing figure in the media, popular with some Trump supporters and harshly criticized by both establishment voices and “radical leftist” commentators. In recent interviews, he’s lashed out at U.S. intelligence agencies and the State Department, blaming them for “sabotaging” his mission—a mission he insists was given a tacit blessing by the Trump administration. “If we do invade Venezuela, what’s next?” he mused in an interview with Russian state-owned RT. He went on to challenge the narrative promoted by the U.S. government, calling allegations that Maduro leads a drug-running cartel “a fabrication of the CIA.” Goudreau also cast doubt on the Venezuelan opposition, saying, “The truth of the matter is the Venezuelan opposition is as ruthless and tyrannical as the Venezuelan regime under Nicolas Maduro.”
Goudreau’s journey into the world of Venezuelan politics began after he worked security at a benefit concert in Colombia, organized to deliver humanitarian aid across the border. Although he lacked Spanish language skills, he developed close ties with exiled allies of opposition leader Juan Guaidó, whom the U.S. recognized at the time as Venezuela’s legitimate leader. Over several months, Goudreau and his associates hatched their plan to invade Venezuela, signing a contract with Guaidó’s team. However, the alliance fractured months before the raid, and the operation ultimately went forward under new leadership, which some believe was infiltrated by Maduro’s intelligence services.
As part of the investigation, prosecutors have linked Goudreau to roughly 60 AR-15 rifles intended for clandestine training camps in Colombia. Two of the rifles seized in Colombia were found to contain Goudreau’s DNA, and suppressors, night-vision goggles, and other equipment had serial numbers matching purchases by his Florida-based security firm, Silvercorp. Goudreau now faces trial in February 2026 for failing to obtain an export license for these weapons.
The story of Jordan Goudreau—a decorated veteran, would-be revolutionary, and now fugitive—captures the complexities and contradictions of American involvement in Venezuela. As the legal case unfolds, the lines between heroism and hubris, idealism and recklessness, remain as blurry as ever.
