“Why are there so few people here?” Matt asked. “Even on a Sunday I would have expected more people.”
“Most of the administrative staff doesn’t work on Sundays. I don’t usually work on Sundays,” Patty added pointedly. “And most of our operatives are on assignment.”
“In Afghanistan?” Matt asked trying to sound casual. Matt had read a report that the U.S. was moving large numbers of personnel to permanent bases in Afghanistan. It was a deeply controversial build-up. The dramatic increase in American-led military presence in Afghanistan had unsettled some regional powers, not to mention many in the U.S. who continued to oppose the war in Afghanistan. So, rumor had it that the U.S. was staffing these bases with private military contractors, instead of U.S. troops.
“Yes, some are in Afghanistan, but we have operatives serving in a wide variety of capacities throughout the world,” Patty responded evenly while watching Matt closely.
Matt decided to try another tack. “And how many of your operatives are engaged in combat?” he asked. “I’ve read several reports that say Protegere employees are actually engaged in combat, fighting alongside the men and women of the U.S. military and, in some cases, leading them.”
“Specific assignments are completely confidential,” Patty replied. “However, I can assure you that our operatives are not mercenaries.” Patty had clearly understood where Matt might be headed with this line of questioning. “Our operatives serve as valuable resources to the U.S. military and the militaries of our allies in the global war on terror.” A very nice, if not outdated, sound bite Matt thought.
“Okay,” Patty said clapping her hands together. “At this point, that’s the end of our tour. If you will follow me now, I’ll take you back to the administrative offices.”
With that, Patty turned around and began leading them toward the exit. “Any further questions will need to be addressed by the head of our PR department. I understand that you have a call set up with her for later today. Correct?”
“That’s correct,” Matt confirmed.
As the trio left the gymnasium and headed back toward the administration building, Matt looked over at Alex, trying to catch her attention. She was on the other side of Patty and staring straight ahead.
Matt guessed the key servers that ran Protégée’s toxic programs must be in the IT Building behind that concrete block wall. Matt and Alex were within striking distance of where they needed to be, yet with each step they took the opportunity was slipping further away from them. His mind raced as they walked toward the administration building and likely toward an armed guard ready to escort them out of the compound.
Matt’s pace slowed and he began to fall behind the two women.
“Alex,” Matt said. “Let me get that camera bag for you.”
“It’s okay,” she replied.
“Really, Alex, I got it.”
Alex turned around to reply but must have caught the expression in Matt’s eyes.
“Uh, sure. It is kind of heavy.”
Matt reached forward and took the bag. He slowed his pace a little so he fell a few steps farther behind the two women. They continued walking.
Suddenly, a crashing sound ripped through the otherwise peaceful afternoon. Birds in nearby trees chirped and fluttered away. Patty and Alex jumped and turned back toward Matt, then down at the camera laying in pieces at his feet.
“Damn,” Matt muttered. “Didn’t realize the bag was open.”
He squatted down and began to pick up the pieces. As he bent over, the open camera bag spilled out its contents in every direction. Matt heard someone sigh heavily and then footsteps as both women walked back to help Matt pick up the mess.
“Well, look who’s old school,” Patty said as she squatted down next to Matt and picked up a canister of film.
Two pairs of hands joined Matt’s to pick up pieces of the now-broken camera, accessories and film. They were shoving everything into the open bag sitting on the ground in the middle of them. Patty leaned across Matt to pick up an errant film canister that had rolled off to the side. Matt leaned in quickly and placed one hand on the back of Patty’s head. With his other, Matt pressed one end of the glass camera lens against Patty’s neck. She gasped and her eyes widened.
“Up,” Matt commanded. “Very slowly,” he said. They rose together awkwardly.
“What are you doing?”
“Extending our tour.”
The young woman’s eyes darted from side to side but no one was around to help. Her eyes began to tear up.
“Let’s go,” he said pushing Patty back toward the IT building.
Patty stumbled along with Matt leading the way and Alex following closely behind.
At the entrance to the computer building, Matt ordered Patty to use her swipe card to open the door. The building was empty. The two technicians that were there earlier must have gone to lunch or left for the day.
Matt directed Patty toward the back of the room. When they approached the door in the back, Patty stopped.
“Open it,” Matt said.
“I can’t,” she replied.
“I said, Open it!”
“I told you,” Patty said weakly. “I can’t get in there.” She gestured toward the biometric fingerprint pad. “The room has additional security. And I’m not authorized.”
“I don’t believe you.”
“I’m telling you the truth.” Patty stammered as her bottom lip began to quiver.
“Do it.” He pressed the jagged glass harder against her neck.
Her eyes welled up again. She reluctantly lifted her hand and pressed it against the pad. The light next to the pad continued to blink red.
“Try it again.” Matt demand.
She pressed again, this time harder. Nothing happened.
Knowing it was likely futile, Matt nonetheless jerked the handle.
“Damn it!” he said to no one in particular when it did not budge.
“Shit. Shit. Shit,” Matt muttered as tried to think of another option.
Patty was now openly crying as he continued to hold her neck and the glass firmly against it.
There had to be another way. His eyes combed the building, looking for a window. Another entrance. Something.
“It’s okay,” Alex said from behind him.
Matt turned to look at her. She pushed past him, moved in front of Patty and toward the keypad. She pressed her hand against the biometric fingerprint scanner. After a few seconds, the light on the scanner switched from red to green. There was a soft buzz from the door. She turned the handle, pushed it open and walked into the room.
“What? How?” Matt asked as he slowly followed her in, dragging Patty along with him.
“Alex?” Matt said when she didn’t respond. “How, did you …”
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
“WELL, HELLO, MATT,” a familiar voice boomed from across the room. “Thank you for joining us.”
As the words hung in the air, Jack Rabin stepped from behind the rows of servers and walked slowly in their direction. Following closely behind him, Cole Harrison flashed Matt a grin. Matt was rendered speechless at the sight of the two Department of Homeland Security officers. Matt felt a stirring behind him and turned back toward the door quickly, jerking Patty with him. Two other men walked into the room, both had their guns pointed directly at Matt.
Patty whimpered. One man pointed toward the woman and then toward the door. Matt hesitated for a moment, and it was enough. Patty pulled her arm out of Matt’s grasp and raced past the two men and out of the room. One of the men followed her.
“Alex, I commend you,” Rabin continued smoothly. “You’ve brought this much further along than we’d planned.”
“What?” Matt said dumbly. He looked from Alex to Rabin and then back to Alex. “What’s he talking about, Alex?”
Alex was standing slightly ahead of Matt and to his right. She didn’t acknowledge the question or even look in Matt’s direction. She was staring straigh
t ahead at Rabin.
“Alex?” The word hung in the air as she continued to avoid looking in his direction.
“What the hell’s going on?” Matt demanded as he reached over and grabbed Alex’s left wrist.
Suddenly, Alex turned and grabbed the back of Matt’s hand, twisting her left hand and wrenching her wrist free. With her right hand, she squeezed his right thumb into his palm while at the same time pressing his fingers toward his elbow. Pain shot through Matt’s wrist and down his arm. Alex turned and began pushing Matt’s elbow toward his face. Matt fell to his knees.
After a moment, Matt caught his breath and slowly rose. Massaging his wrist, Matt turned back toward Rabin. Alex was now standing to the left of Rabin and staring at Matt, her face devoid of emotion. Rabin nodded to the two men standing on either side of Matt. Each man quickly grabbed one of Matt’s arms, dragged him over to one side of the room and shoved him into a chair facing Harrison.
Alex began to walk toward the door.
“Alex!” he shouted.
She never turned or even slowed down as she left the room.
Matt started to rise from the chair, but one man shoved him back as the other took out a roll of duct tape. The two men strapped him in with well-choreographed precision. Although his legs were free, both his arms were stuck to the arm rests.
“Rabin, what the hell is going on?” Matt raged. “Who the hell are you people?”
Rabin didn’t respond. Instead, he turned to follow Alex out the door.
“Where the hell are you going?” Matt yelled after them.
“Rabin!” Matt shouted when the man didn’t respond. He pulled against the restraints pinning him to the chair.
As the door closed, Cole Harrison’s smiling mug came into view. Using the butt of his gun, he delivered a blow to the side of Matt’s head.
“Well, I must say, Matt,” Rabin began after Matt came to. “You’ve been very busy the last couple of days.”
Matt had no idea how much time had elapsed between when Harrison knocked him out and Matt had regained consciousness. Shortly after he had regained consciousness Rabin re-entered the room. Rabin was dressed in khakis and a black T-shirt. No jacket this time so Matt couldn’t miss how the T-shirt stretched tightly against his chest and biceps. He had a gun strapped to his belt, a 9-millimeter Beretta M9Z, standard issue for the U.S. military Special Operations Units.
Rabin sat down in the sleek black ergonomic chair situated behind the desk directly in front of Matt. He leaned back and stretched his legs out in front of him, casually crossing his feet at the ankles. With his elbows on the armrests and his interlocking fingers resting lightly on his midsection, Rabin was the picture of calm.
Harrison moved to one side of Rabin, never taking his eyes off Matt, and sat down on the corner of the desk. One leg rested on the floor in front of him; the other hung loosely in the air. A semiautomatic weapon rested casually across his thighs. The muzzle of the gun was pointing away from Matt, but Harrison held the grip firmly and his finger tapped the trigger.
“You’re a long way from home, Matt,” Rabin said in that congenial manner he had previously adopted with Matt. “What brings you out this way?”
“A story,” Matt finally said. “And you?”
Rabin paused while he contemplated the fingernails on his left hand. If Matt’s sarcasm irritated him, he didn’t let it show. “We came here to find you,” he said. “You’ve been avoiding us and we had some questions for you.”
“I’ve been busy,” Matt finally replied, deciding two could play Rabin’s game.
“Yes, we know. Which reminds me,” Rabin continued, “my condolences to you for the loss of your friend Patrick Mullarky. I hear he died quite tragically.”
“What do you know about that?” Matt asked quickly.
“Well, for starters, I know that you are wanted for questioning in connection with his murder and the murder of some bartender,” Rabin looked across the room at Harrison. “What was his name, Harrison? It seems to have slipped my mind.”
“No fuckin’ clue,” the younger man responded quickly, never taking his eyes off Matt.
“I had nothing to do with that,” Matt said through clenched teeth.
“Well, unfortunately, Matt,” Rabin continued, “the authorities think otherwise. They know you were there. You left the scene of the crime and now you’ve disappeared.” Rabin clucked in disapproval. “The police aren’t looking very favorably upon you right now.”
Rabin picked up a pen from the desk and began twirling it.
Matt still didn’t respond.
“That was one ugly crime scene, Matt,” Rabin continued. “And your friend Patrick … Well, it looked like he really suffered.”
Rabin didn’t take his eyes off Matt, even as his fingers continued to twirl the pen.
Images of the crime scene at Keg South flashed briefly before Matt. Dan with a bullet between his eyes. Patrick gutted like an animal. He looked again at Rabin and it was as if he was seeing the man for the first time. His dark shiny eyes watched Matt intently but revealed little. Matt looked over at Harrison. His face was lit up with what looked like excitement as he watched realization slowly creep up on Matt. Confusion turned to shock and then rage. It was clear now that Rabin and Harrison had been behind the murders of Patrick and Dan.
“You sick sons of bitches!” Matt shouted.
He strained against the duct tape, pressed his feet against the floor and lifted the chair up.
Harrison jumped off the desk and strode toward Matt, the butt of his rifle raised high. Just as he reached Matt and as the weapon began its downward descent toward his head, Rabin barked a short “No!”
Harrison stopped, the weapon within inches of Matt’s head.
Harrison took a step back. Matt fell backward and the chair hit the floor with a loud thud.
“You have only yourself to blame for this, Matt,” Rabin said impassively. “You and Stephen are responsible for what happened to Patrick and that bartender. You were both warned.”
The pieces were slowly falling into place. The call from Harrison after Matt had made contact with Stephen. Rabin’s seemingly casual question about Stephen’s whereabouts at the end of their first meeting. The breakin at Stephen’s apartment. Then, hearing from these guys again after Matt met with Marie, Bob’s widow, in Maryland.
These guys had been involved from the beginning. Worse. They were likely behind the murders of Bob, Stephen, Patrick and Dan. But why? To simply control the spin cycle surrounding what was going on in the Middle East? To what end?
“Warned by whom?” Matt finally asked.
Rabin didn’t respond immediately. He got up and began pacing slowly in front of Matt. Now he twirled the pen with his left hand as he moved across the room.
“Your editor, among others,” Rabin finally answered.
“Dave Kagan?” Matt scoffed. “He can’t possibly be involved in this.”
Rabin clucked softly.
“Matt, you have no idea who’s involved or even what ‘this’ is.”
“I know IMS has been manipulating information on the Internet,” Matt said sounding more defensive than he wanted to.
“Well, that’s a good start, Matt.” Rabin said in a patronizing tone. “But that’s only a very small piece of the elaborate mosaic we have gone to great lengths to construct.”
“You mean the lies created by the PR firm about what’s going on in the Middle East.”
Rabin continued to pace in front of Matt. “Sure that’s right, Matt. But did you ever ask yourself how a PR firm could control the media so completely?”
“I know about the computer program.”
“Of course you do,” Rabin nodded. “Patrick would have explained that to you. He’d been playing with that program for weeks. It didn’t take us long to figure that out. Then it was just a question of letting him think we hadn’t caught on to him. And the whole time we were tracking him.” Rabin laughed. “He thought he was so fuck
ing smart. Stoned off his own so-called brilliance, he continued to toy with that program while we watched him, discovered what he was up to and who he was working with. He led us straight to Stephen. And then Bob.”
“If Patrick could figure out what you were doing, Rabin, I’m sure others will too. You must have stolen that technology from the Department of Defense, and it won’t be long before they figure it out and come after you.”
Rabin laughed. “Matt, for a journalist who has been through as much as you have, you are still quite naïve.”
“Well, why don’t you fill in the details?” Matt asked.
Rabin hesitated for a moment before replying.
“Well, for starters, Protegere didn’t steal that technology from the U.S. government. The government gave it to them.” Rabin smiled when he saw the shocked look on Matt’s face. “You see, Matt, the government really saw the benefits of that program, even when the bleeding-heart liberals couldn’t and tried to shut it down. The government knew it could get a lot of valuable intelligence using it and didn’t want some inconsequential thing like civil liberties to get in the way. So, when Congress said they cut off funding for the program, they really just transferred the technology to the private sector. The government continued funding the research and development efforts and, with that funding, the private sector improved the technology.”
“And IMS has been using this technology to destroy information that ran counter to its media message about the Middle East,” Matt interrupted.
Rabin nodded. “But IMS couldn’t have controlled the news so beautifully, with just some fancy computer program that tracks Internet activity. In addition to identifying information they didn’t like, IMS had to get the producers of the information to work with them and develop the messages they wanted.”
“But no media company with any real credibility would go along with that.”
“Of course, they would,” Rabin replied. He must have seen the skepticism on Matt’s face. “Come on, Matt. Is it really so unbelievable?” Rabin asked. “I know it was before your time, but does Operation Mockingbird ring a bell?”
Operation Mockingbird Page 18