Operation Mockingbird

by Linda Baletsa

  “Hi,” Matt said delivering his most winning smile.

  “Hello,” the stranger replied politely.

  She made no move to leave, and Matt began to feel optimistic. “What brings you here?”

  “I’m just waiting for someone. I thought you might be him.”

  “I could be,” Matt replied. “Depends on who you’re waiting for.”

  Matt continued when she only responded with a small smile. “Someone with boyish good looks and a self-deprecating sense of humor? Someone capable of maintaining an intelligent conversation.” Matt silently prayed Alex Doren would stand him up.

  Her laugh was throaty and deep, trailing off to a mischievous smile as she extended her hand. “I’m Alex Doren, Matt.”

  He just stared.

  “This is awkward,” she said after a moment, still holding her hand out.

  “For you?” Matt responded as he took her hand. “Imagine my side of this moment.”

  So Alex Doren was a female. It had been his experience that female journalists looked more like the Margot Kidder Lois Lane than the Terri Hatcher or Kate Bosworth Lois Lane. But Alex Doren was more Lois Lane meets Julia Roberts. Hello, trouble! Matt thought.

  “I thought we might go to Green Street Café,” Alex said, interrupting his thoughts.

  “Sounds great.”

  Matt gestured for her to lead the way and then watched appreciatively as she moved easily through the crowd.

  Green Street Café Lounge and Restaurant was located in the center of Coconut Grove and was the premier “seen and be seen” restaurant in the area. A favorite meeting place any time of day or night, it was frequented by politicians, athletes, artists and locals from The Grove and the surrounding areas.

  Matt had no intention of allowing Alex to turn this into an interview. Immediately after they were seated in the outdoor terrace, he went straight to the point. “I think we have a mutual friend. Bob Sandberg? Or had a mutual friend,” Matt said correcting himself.

  “Yes. I knew Bob. But only briefly,” Alex said, putting down the menu and looking at him. “I was so sorry to hear about what happened. What a tragedy.” She paused for a moment. “Were you two close?”

  “Yeah, we were. I was just with his wife Marie. She’s torn up about his death.”

  “I can’t even imagine what she’s going through, especially with those little kids.” Alex paused a moment, shook her head and turned her attention back to her menu.

  After they placed their order, Alex reached into her backpack and took out a pad of paper and pen. Before she could ask the first question, Matt fired off one. “So, how did you know Bob? He never mentioned you to me before.”

  “I met him through a friend of a friend,” she said opening her pad and clicking her pen. “I only met him a couple of times. As I said, I didn’t know him that well.”

  “Really? I got the impression that you were better acquainted. Maybe working on some project together …”

  “He was helping me with a project I was working on.”

  “What kind of project?”

  “Nothing interesting,” she replied slowly, apparently not comfortable with being on the receiving end of the questions. “It’s kind of stalled right now.”

  “What was it about? Maybe I can help?”

  “Matt, what’s with all the questions?” Alex said smiling tightly. “I thought I was doing the interview.”

  Matt decided to get right to the point. He leaned in. “Bob Sandberg’s wife believes his death was no accident. She believes he was killed.” Her eyes widened. “And killed because of some story he was working on.”

  “Wow,” Alex said. “But what has this got to do with me?”

  “That’s what I’d like to find out.”

  Matt decided to come clean and explained the journal that Marie had entrusted him with. “I saw your name and initials in the journal.”

  “Jeez,” Alex said taking a drink. “I don’t know what to say.”

  “You can start by telling me about this story Bob was helping you with.”

  “I doubt my pet project had anything to do with this.”

  “It’s a place to start.”

  “Okay,” Alex began slowly. “For the last several months, I’ve been researching how the media has been covering the Middle East. I have been comparing the coverage of the first Iraq War under President George H.W. Bush, to the coverage of the War on Terror under his son George W. Bush and finally to the coverage of Operation Enduring Freedom under President Obama. I wanted to show how technology and social media in particular have affected news coverage generally and, more specifically, major media events like the conflict in the Middle East.”

  “I would imagine things like the Internet, blogs and alternative news sources have also had a significant impact.”

  “Yes, exactly,” Alex said nodding. “The Internet – with help from social media - have definitely had an impact on the amount of information that people have access to and this in turn had an effect on public awareness and public opinion. For one thing, the public is much more informed about what’s going in the Middle East than it has ever been before.”

  “The American population is informed? Are we talking about the same population?”

  Alex ignored his snarky comment. “Prior to 9/11, many people hadn’t heard of Iraq or Afghanistan. Most couldn’t have identified them on a map. And they certainly had never heard of al-Qaeda. After 9/11, people were suddenly more aware and interested in what was going on there.”

  “Largely because we were sending their sons, daughters and spouses there,” Matt interrupted.

  “True,” Alex conceded.

  Their meals arrived. After they both sampled a few bites, Matt encouraged Alex to continue.

  “Whatever the reasons, the general public is more knowledgeable than ever before about foreign affairs, countries that have nuclear weapons capabilities and our relationship with those countries. They are also more engaged, more vocal and passionate about their positions.”

  Alex took a small bite before continuing. “Today, people have strong opinions about whether the war was a good idea or not and whether we should continue to have a significant presence in the Middle East. They care about what’s going on in Syria and our relationships with North Korea and Iran.”

  “The events of 9/11 were quite a wake-up call.”

  “That’s right,” Alex agreed. “And as horrible as 9/11 was, one positive thing that came out of all of it is that we’re more informed and aware of what’s going on outside our borders.”

  She paused. “Or at least that’s my conclusion.”

  “Sounds like an interesting project,” Matt said.

  “I think so,” Alex replied.

  “Where did Bob fit into all this?”

  “Well, Bob heard about my research through some mutual friends. My friends said he thought it was interesting, so I called him. I knew that, because of his experiences, I could get some great information from him. I was thrilled when he agreed to meet with me and help me.”

  “Help how?”

  “Well, he was primarily a sounding board. We bounced ideas back and forth. We would talk for hours. Because of his prior experience with other conflicts, he knew the difference in the coverage between this conflict and earlier ones.”

  “And …”

  “And we just talked.”

  “So, what happened?”

  “Nothing.” Alex shrugged her shoulders. “I didn’t hear from Bob for about two weeks and then I heard about the accident … uh … fire, whatever it was.”

  She paused for a moment. “I still find it hard to believe that his death could have been anything other than an accident. I can’t imagine anyone would want to kill Bob.”

  Matt resumed his eating as he absorbed everything Alex had told him.

  “I guess you like this place,” Matt said eyeing the empty plate in front of her. “Either that, or you just haven’t eaten in some time.”


  Alex gave him a thumbs-up as she washed down the last of the meal with a swallow of water.

  “Listen, Matt,” Alex finally said. “I can’t believe that Bob was murdered. But even if he was, I can’t imagine that anything Bob and I talked about contributed to his death. Really. I think you’re barking up the wrong tree with me.”

  “But I do thank you for the meal,” she said, smiling brightly as the waitress put the check down in front of him.

  “You’re welcome,” Matt said as he pulled out his wallet.

  “But, wait,” Alex said. “What about my interview? I have a lot of questions about your experiences in Afghanistan.”

  Matt tossed bills on top of the check.

  “I know. But now is not a good time.”

  “Wait, Matt. I just need –”

  He started to rise. “Sorry, Alex, I have to go.”

  “Matt, at least take my cell phone number. Call me. Anytime. Please, I have so many questions.”

  “Alright, Alex,” Matt said as he pulled out his cell phone. “Give it to me.”

  As she recited the numbers, Matt inputted them into his cell phone. While Matt still wasn’t sold on the interview idea, he felt good about having gotten her telephone number.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  THE DOWNTOWN MIAMI Public Library was unlike most government buildings. It was sunny and cheerful, with a central plaza where people met, read and ate. Beginning in college and even while he was working for The Chronicle, Matt preferred doing his research and writing here, usually in the back sitting at his favorite cubicle.

  Although he had access to most information through his computer and The Chronicle archives, libraries had librarians. They bore a comforting resemblance to elementary school teachers, and were always eager to help. Each visitor was a pupil to be educated on the secrets the library held within its walls and each query a challenge to their investigative skills. It was like having a team of free research assistants at your fingertips, assistants that smelled like his mom and offered the occasional figurative pat on the head.

  Matt had stayed up late into the night poring over the journal again. He felt compelled to find some basis for the theory advanced by Marie or at least to know he had exhausted every possible avenue exploring the idea. Without doing that, he felt he was letting Marie down. If there was ever a person who shouldn’t be let down especially right now, it was Marie.

  He had a good grasp of the points Bob was working on and wanted to do some additional research to see if there was anything there. Bob’s observations on the Middle East were interesting but not timely. The stories had been told before. To quote the words of Dave Kagan, these stories were “old news.” The notes regarding politicians merely identified a few of the schemes that our public servants, once having achieved office, used to pilfer from the government coffers for their own personal enrichment. The notes bemoaned the fact that every boon a municipality conferred upon its citizens was at once exploited by these same politicians or lobbyists. The so-called tax cuts for the working class which largely benefitted those in the upper income brackets were just one example. Another was the no-bid contracts allegedly awarded to support the troops and make our country more secure that ultimately benefitted the politicians’ biggest donors.

  There was one topic referenced in Bob’s journals with which Matt had some general knowledge but wasn’t deeply familiar. They were PMCs – or private military companies - so Matt began by focusing on them. The fact that the wars in Iraq and Afghanistan were the most privatized in American military history was not breaking news. But the numbers Bob had cited were staggering. According to the website of the Center for Public Integrity, since 1994 the United States Defense Department had entered into 3,061 contracts valued at more than $300 billion with twelve United States-based PMCs. Since the war in Afghanistan, these contracts had increased significantly.

  Bob described how contractors – in addition to raking in the cash supporting the U.S. military - have provided the Administration with political cover. Using PMCs had allow the government to deploy private forces in a war zone free of public scrutiny, with the deaths, injuries and crimes of those forces shrouded in secrecy in exchange for the Administration’s shielding the contractors from accountability, oversight and legal constraints.

  Bob listed the names of the different companies and the figures opposite their names. The amounts paid to these corporations were staggering. Matt started with the first name on the list and worked his way down, not really sure what he was looking for. For each, he did a Google search, browsed the company website and then looked through the public filings of the companies that were public. There was nothing he could immediately identify as unusual.

  Flipping through the journal, Matt saw several references to a public relations firm called Information Management Services. A Google search revealed nothing. Searches using several other search engines yielded no hits for the company. An extremely eager and diligent librarian couldn’t find anything either. The company had no website and apparently wasn’t doing a good job promoting itself.

  Matt stepped outside for a break and decided to call Alex. She picked up on the second ring.

  “Hey, Matt. Ready for that interview?”

  “Not yet, Alex. But, I was hoping to get your help.”

  “Sure, what’s up?”

  “I’m trying to find information on a company called Information Management Services. There was a reference to the company in Bob’s journal. Based on his notes, it looks like it’s a public relations firm. Ever heard of it?”

  “Actually, yes,” she responded immediately. “But I don’t know much about them. It’s a very private public relations firm.”

  “Sounds like an oxymoron.”

  “No kidding,” she laughed. “But they are good at what they do.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Crisis management — providing damage control to companies in serious trouble. You know, corporate theft, executive officers misbehaving, that kind of stuff.”

  “Being involved in such high-profile cases you’d think they’d do a better job promoting themselves.”

  “You’d think so, but for whatever reason, they don’t. Even though you may not have heard of the company, I’m sure you’re familiar with some of their work.”

  “Like?”

  “Remember that oil company that owned the tanker that spilled millions of tons of oil off the coast of Spain?” Alex asked.

  “Sure. What a mess. I can still see the pictures of environmentalists suited up in their hazard gear cleaning off wildlife covered in oil.”

  “That was them. They hired IMS, and then, a year later, the U.S. government gave the company a permit to drill for oil in Alaska – this despite leaving the government in Spain on the hook for millions in environmental cleanup.”

  “Interesting,” Matt responded.

  “It gets better,” Alex continued. “When Moammar Gadhafi was still in power, he was spending millions of dollars a year on a PR campaign to burnish his global image as a statesman and a reformer.”

  “A campaign led by IMS.”

  “You got it. Rumor has it that the President of Syria paid this firm big bucks to try and portray him as a transformative leader instead of the oppressive dictator he is.”

  “Okay, I’m impressed.”

  “Where are you going with this?” Alex asked after a short pause. “What does this have to do with Bob?”

  “I’m not sure,” Matt conceded. “I’m just sifting through the information in his journal.”

  “Okay,” she said. “But, Matt, promise me you’ll call me if you need anything else. I’d like to help.”

  Hanging up with Alex, Matt tried to figure out how this new information could tie into Bob’s death. It was Matt’s experience that PR firms were zealous advocates for their clients – in many cases, overzealous to the point of annoying, but definitely not murderers.

  As Matt was leaving the library, he was assaulted
by the aroma of one of Miami’s well-known population segments. The homeless. In light of its warm climate, Miami had always had a large homeless population. That had only increased since the unemployment rate had skyrocketed, the real estate boom several years ago had eaten up all the affordable housing, and public assistance had been reduced to negligible levels. At night the homeless slept in shelters and encampments scattered throughout downtown. During the day, they wandered the streets of Miami, swathed in every piece of clothing they owned. Unbathed homeless people wrapped in layers of unwashed clothing, baking in the Miami heat was not a winning combination.

  During business hours on the weekdays, the homeless regularly frequented the local public libraries, taking advantage of the free admission and air-conditioning. It was difficult for municipalities to balance protecting the rights of the homeless who had no place else to go and the rights of the general population to enjoy public places unmolested. The City of Miami had fought that battle and lost. The homeless were permitted to enjoy the cool indoors and free literature, and the others just had to accept it.

  As he walked through the crowd, several people reached out to him asking for spare change. Matt averted his eyes and kept walking. A longhaired man was particularly aggressive and stepped in his path. Matt brushed past him. He glanced around, avoiding any form of eye contact. Yet, the man’s tattered T-shirt caught his eye. “Fuck your fascist concept of beauty,” it screamed. Matt couldn’t resist a small smile as he shifted his gaze back to the ground and continued walking.

  The homeless guy kept pace and extended his hand. A universally understood gesture.

  “No, sorry,” Matt said without breaking stride. Undeterred, the man followed, that insistent hand still hanging out there.

  “I’m in a hurry,” Matt said veering off toward the stairs on the opposite side of the plaza leading down to street level.

  From a brief glance the man looked vaguely familiar but many of the homeless had been living on the streets and hanging out at the same locations for several years. Matt was a regular fixture at the library when he was working downtown. He had probably seen this guy before, possibly given him some spare change.