Operation Mockingbird (20 page)

Matt looked over at Alex. The moon was bright and he could easily make out her features. She was watching him. The rain had increased in intensity. The palm trees were really whipping about now. On the balcony, Matt and Alex remained dry.

“They drank for hours,” Matt continued. “Fortunately for us, these guys had little tolerance for alcohol. By midnight, they were piss drunk. That’s when Aamir came back and got me and we got into a car parked out front. That part was surprisingly easy. His wife and two kids were there waiting for us. I remember Aamir’s five-year-old son was awake when we got to the car.” Matt smiled at the memory of Masud, the young boy’s eyes bright with excitement. “He thought this was some big adventure and was really excited.” Matt shook his head at the memory. “Can you imagine?”

“Sure,” Alex said. “He was a kid.”

“Aamir drove. His wife sat in the front seat with their daughter on her lap. The little girl was about two or three. Masud and I sat in the back. We did pretty well going through the city. It was late and the streets were quiet. Aamir drove quickly. By the time we got to the checkpoint leaving the city, we were nervous as hell. I was wearing the traditional garb and headgear worn by Middle Eastern men. Since I had been held captive for some time, I had even grown a pretty good-size beard. So, we thought I might be able to pass for Middle Eastern, as long as I didn’t have to open my mouth.”

“At the checkpoint, everything seemed to be okay. I couldn’t understand what Aamir was saying but he told me before that he was going to tell them some story about going to stay with his wife’s family outside the city. I saw Aamir slip some money to the guy at the gate. That’s how everything was done there.”

Matt paused. “But just as the guy started to let us through, we heard gunfire behind us.”

He stood up and began to pace the balcony.

“‘Go, go, go’ was running through my head. Some of the men watching the checkpoint, farther away from the car, got up. They started looking around, trying to figure out what was going on. Aamir was still working on his new best friend. The guy even walked toward the gate and started to lift it. He was just about to wave us through when someone, some guy that appeared to be in charge, started heading toward us. He was yelling and gesturing wildly.”

Matt ran his hands through his hair, still pacing.

“Aamir didn’t wait. He slammed the gas and we barreled through the wooden barricade. I looked back and saw a vehicle turning the corner. It was a truck full of men, three in the front seat and about four of them in the back.”

Matt stopped. He turned to face the water. No party boats out there now. The rain was now relentless. Even the tourists weren’t willing to go out in this weather.

“They followed us through the gate and out of the city. As Aamir drove, I watched some men from the checkpoint get into another car. Others ran to their weapons and started turning machine guns in our direction. Ahead, I could just barely make out the lights from the American camp. It seemed so damn far away.

Matt ran his fingers through his hair.

“Suddenly, the men started firing at us from behind. We continued racing along. But, then, as if things couldn’t get any worse, the Americans started firing at us too. Those days, no one knew who the real enemy was and everyone was trigger happy.”

“Jeez, Matt.”

He could feel Alex’s eyes boring into him. He was standing now, facing the water. He didn’t turn around.

“When we got within range of the Americans, the guards from the checkpoint that were chasing us turned around. But the men that were in the truck continued to fire at us. Aamir shouted something to his wife. I didn’t understand what he said. But she reached for a bag that was on the floor. She pulled out a string of American flags and ran them outside the window. But the Americans didn’t stop. It was dark. Perhaps they couldn’t make out the
flags. Perhaps they had fallen victim to this trick before. I don’t know.”

“Aamir’s little girl woke up and was screaming. His son wanted no more of this big adventure and began to cry. The two kids were frightened out of their minds. Hell, we were all scared shitless.”

“As we drew closer to the camp, Aamir was honking the horn and flashing the lights. By now, we were within machine-gun range. And, unfortunately for us, the Americans were much better shots then the men behind us. Bullets began striking the car. The headlights shattered first. Then the windshield. I covered Aamir’s son with my arms and body. I heard Aamir screaming. I looked up into the front seat and over at Aamir’s wife. I could see blood on the front of her blouse. Her eyes were open but she was already gone. As long as I live, I will never forget that sight or the sound of Aamir’s screams.”

“Matt …”

She was standing now and put her hand on his back.

He finally turned to face her. He had to finish. Other than the authorities, he had never told anyone this story.

“Aamir kept driving. But at the same time, he was reaching over to his wife. Shaking her and, I think, pleading for her to wake up.”

Tears were streaming down Alex’s face. She didn’t make any move to wipe them away. Matt couldn’t stop, even if he wanted to.

“Before I could do anything, or even think of what to do, a huge blast ripped into the car. I don’t remember
much after that. Just flying through the air and then nothing.”

“And that’s it,” he said softly after a moment. “When I woke up I was in a tent in the U.S. Army camp. I was fine. Banged up but fine. But Aamir” -- the words caught in his throat -- “Aamir, his wife and daughter were dead. And Aamir’s son is just another war orphan in the Middle East.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

THE NEXT MORNING, Matt and Alex found coffee, liquid egg whites and stale bread in Christina’s kitchen and made a quick breakfast. They huddled together around the kitchen table. Slowly, and then more quickly, they agreed on a plan. The plan required going straight in to the lion’s den with Patrick’s flash drive. It was reckless. It was very risky. But it was the best idea they could come up with.

Alex dug up the keys to Christina’s vehicle and they took the elevator to the condo garage. Matt got behind the wheel of the green Land Rover and they headed out. The first stop was a local wireless store for replacement cell phones. Matt and Alex paid cash for prepaid phones with no annual contract and only minimal records of their purchase. Next stop was a local Target for some clothes for Matt. He didn’t want to risk going back to his house.

They headed down I- 95. After they passed downtown and left behind the interminable delays caused by the never-ending construction on Miami roads, Matt picked up his cell phone and dialed the number for Protegere. It took him several minutes to navigate through the computer
phone system and then several highly protective executive assistants, but he finally got through to the right person.

“Hello, Mrs. Davis. This is Matt Connelly from
The Chronicle
. I’m doing a story on Protegere and wanted a tour of your facilities. I understand you’re the person I need to speak with.”

“Certainly, Mr. Connelly,” the woman replied. “I can schedule a meeting with Sandra Parker, our VP of Corporate Communications. She would be happy to provide you with information about our company and give you a tour of the campus.”

Matt listened to her tap away on her computer. “How does Wednesday of next week look to you?”

“Unfortunately, that won’t work,” Matt replied. “I’m on a deadline for a story that’s going to run on Monday. It has to be today or tomorrow at the latest.”

“I’m sorry, Mr. Connelly, but our offices are closed over the weekend -- and Ms. Parker is based in our North Carolina office. She would need to fly down for the meeting. The earliest date I could schedule something would be next week.”

Matt knew that Monday would be too late and he thought the weekend would be perfect. He hoped that over the weekend the company’s corporate campus would be less crowded and security less tight.

“Well, that would be a shame,” Matt said after a moment. “Because I’m working on an article about private military companies and their role in the torture and abuse of prisoners in military prisons run by the private military companies.” There was silence on the other line. “It’s
shaping up to be an interesting article,” Matt continued, “but I wanted to get perspective from a well-respected defense contractor with a private military contractor division.”

Another brief pause before Mrs. Davis finally replied. “Mr. Connelly, I can assure you that a conversation with Ms. Parker and a tour of our facility would be most insightful and would add tremendous value to your article. May I ask if it would be possible to reschedule your story for later in the week -- after you’ve had a chance to meet with Ms. Parker?”

“Unfortunately, no. My editor has already allocated the space for my article in Monday’s paper -- beginning on the front page. We’d have a tough time filling that space at this late date. I have most of the article written. I just need to get the PMC angle and to write the conclusion.”

There was a heavy sigh before the woman responded. “Let me see what I can do. I’ll call you back.”

“That would be great,” Matt said. He gave the woman his new cell phone number before ending the call.

“So this is why I needed to bring this old thing,” Alex said gesturing to the practically antique 33-millimeter Nikon laying at her feet.

“Yeah,” he said, looking over at her quickly and then turning his attention back to the crowded six-lane highway.

“This is your master plan,” she continued. “You’re impersonating a journalist.”

“Some might say I’ve been doing that for most of my professional life,” Matt replied.

Attempting to execute Stephen’s plan was dangerous, perhaps impossible. But Matt didn’t see any other option. After Patrick’s death, it became clear that whoever they were up against was serious about protecting their secrets. Deadly serious. Yet Matt didn’t have any idea what those secrets were, who was trying to protect them and why.

Could Protegere, the largest private military company in the United States, possibly the world, really be behind this? Stephen and Patrick certainly seemed to believe it was. Protegere was a powerful military force regularly retained to fight wars the government couldn’t fight or couldn’t publicly admit to fighting. Matt had encountered enough private military contractors in the Middle East to know that they had the skills to be able to carry out the kind of intimidation Patrick and Stephen had suggested. They certainly had the manpower to engage in a war against the media.

Then there was the technology angle. Did Protegere have the technology that would enable them to monitor Internet activity to the extent Patrick had suggested?

Matt recalled some research he had done many years ago on the Information Awareness Office established after 9/11 by an agency of the Department of Defense. It was created to apply surveillance and information technology to track and monitor terrorist activity and other threats to national security. The Department of Defense wanted to achieve what it cryptically called Total Information Awareness. The department believed this would be achieved by creating enormous computer databases to gather and store the personal information of everyone in
the United States, including personal emails, social networks, credit card records, phone calls, medical records and other such information, without any requirement for a search warrant. The information would then be analyzed to look for suspicious activities, connections between individuals and potential “threats.” The program also included funding for biometric surveillance technologies that could identify and track individuals using surveillance cameras and other methods.

The program had never gotten off the ground. Approximately a year after the office was established, Congress cut off funding and disbanded the office after several groups raised concerns about the privacy issues and publicly criticized the program. There was public criticism that the development and deployment of this technology could potentially lead to a mass surveillance system.

Several recent exposes into government surveillance activities suggested that big brother was in fact listening, tracking, and watching. So, who’s to say the private sector, with significantly more resources and less oversight couldn’t be doing the same, Matt thought.

Mrs. Davis called back less than an hour later.

“Mr. Connelly, I was able to schedule an appointment for 11 a.m. tomorrow morning.”

Matt looked over at Alex and gave her a quick nod. “I can do that,” he said into the phone.

“You’ll get a tour of the campus,” Mrs. Davis continued. “But Ms. Parker will not be able to be there herself, so the person conducting the tour isn’t authorized
to speak on behalf of the company. Tomorrow afternoon at 4 p.m. we have arranged for a conference call between you and Ms. Parker to discuss our company and answer any questions you may have. You must agree not to use any information you obtain from the tour until you have spoken with Ms. Parker.”

“Agreed,” Matt said quickly. “Anything else?”

“Yes. You must arrive at least 30 minutes before the appointment to allow enough time to clear security.”

“Understood,” Matt confirmed. He explained that he was bringing a colleague, a photographer to take pictures of the corporate campus.

The assistant took down Alex’s information, confirmed that Matt knew how to get to the campus and agreed to email Matt the details for the conference call. Matt anticipated that the conference call with the Protegere communications officer, if it ever occurred, would be very interesting.

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

THEY SEARCHED FOR a small motel reasonably close to the Protegere campus, one less likely to ask for a credit-card deposit. They were now taking quite seriously Stephen’s warning that their actions were being monitored. If Protegere, through its PR firm subsidiary, could mine computer data on articles, blogs and web postings, some of which were protected by sophisticated computer firewalls, they could certainly monitor his credit-card activity.

Once checked in, they dropped their overnight bags on the floor and surveyed the room. There were two double beds, both with faded covers, the patterns no longer discernible. The carpet was threadbare and of an indeterminate color. Even the smell of industrial cleaner couldn’t mask the odor of stale cigarettes and mildew. Alex
quickly suggested they go out to get something to eat before calling it an early night.