Randall Shane has been hospitalized in Boston and is under arrest for the murder of Joey’s father, who had hired him to find his missing son. Until that moment she hadn’t even known Joey’s last name, but the breaking-news description of the dead professor confirms all her worst fears.
She’s been used, tricked into thinking that she was helping Shane, when in fact she’s been assisting the kidnappers. She has no idea what’s really going on—there are suggestions in the news blogs that Professor Keener had been suspected of espionage—but one thing she does know for sure. Kidder terrifies her. Not because she cares so much about her own life—everything has been such a struggle since her daughter was taken that death is no longer something to be feared—but because she’s convinced that Joey is in terrible danger. Not from the “foreign agents” Kidder so knowingly alludes to, but from Kidder himself. There’s a palpable darkness about him, a vibe of pure evil. He’s planning to kill them both. She can feel it in her bones, in every beat of her heart.
She has to find a way to save Joey, even if it kills her.
Chapter Thirty-Four
The Pretty Cool Connection
It’s probably just my imagination, but I swear when Teddy Boyle is excited his hair stands up straighter and brightens in color, like a pheasant showing off his tail feathers. Mrs. Beasley notices and announces he’s to have only decaffeinated coffee this morning so he won’t be, as she puts it, “overstimulated.”
Too late for that. He’s found us in the breakfast nook, where Naomi is absorbing her newspapers and I’m trying and failing to balance the column of knowns with the columns of unknowns. It seems like the more we discover the less we know for certain, and the trend is discouraging. Jack, irritatingly dapper at this hour, carefully sips Mrs. Beasley’s French press coffee while going over the notes in his lined reporter’s notebook. Now and then he consults his silenced BlackBerry, scrolling for clues apparently. I wish he’d find one, we could all use a good clue. And Dane, well, Dane has yet to call in, presumably because she had a late night with her new friend in the D.A.’s office.
“Interesting fact about Gama Guards,” our young hacker announces, dropping into the booth. “They were acquired last year by another company, Gatling Security Group. GSG. That’s who really employs the guards at QuantaGate.”
“GSG,” Naomi says, musing. “Rings a bell.”
“Sounds familiar to me, too,” says Jack, keenly interested.
“Dazzle us with details,” Naomi says.
Teddy is eager to comply. “They’re hot-wired to the Pentagon, supplying private contractors to Iraq, Afghanistan, Pakistan, just about anywhere the U.S. military has been deployed. Among many other activities, GSG contractors oversee interrogations for the CIA. And get this: GSG has been implicated in one of the torture scandals. At the behest of the CIA they kidnapped suspects, transported them to remote locations and used what they called ‘enhanced interrogation techniques’ to extract information. Sound familiar?”
It’s clear that Teddy hasn’t slept, and also clear that for him pulling an all-nighter has been somehow invigorating. His eyes are red-rimmed but full of excitement and maybe a little righteous indignation, which becomes clear as he shares what he has discovered about the company that supplies security guards to QuantaGate.
“Begin at the beginning,” Naomi says, very firmly. “Deep background first. Lay the foundation and go from there.”
“Okay, sure, you’re right,” Teddy says, taking a deep breath to steady himself. “The beginning isn’t that long ago, for such a big company. Gatling Security Group was founded by Taylor Gatling, Jr., a young Delta Force officer, the day he resigned from the military. I can’t get to the specifics, because the records are buried deep in the Pentagon, but it looks like the deal was in place before he resigned. He had it wired. That is, he had a contract ready to fulfill the minute he took off the uniform. Started out fairly modest, supplying a dozen or so civilian contractors to work with the CIA as scouts, identifying terrorist targets in Afghanistan, out in the remote tribal areas. Dangerous work, and they did it very well. Within a few months GSG had more than fifty people on the payroll, with an open-ended, no-bid contract. By the end of the first year it was over five hundred. Today there are GSG crews in Afghanistan who detain and interrogate suspects, supposedly under CIA supervision. There are GSG crews who load missiles into Predator drones, crews who pilot the drones by remote control, crews of mechanics who keep the drones fueled and ready to fly. They currently bill nearly half a billion per annum, and that’s only the contracts that come under the sunshine laws. Covert operations are under the general operating budget of the CIA, or whatever agency is sponsoring a particular operation, and those we don’t know about. We do know the company is privately held, with controlling ownership in the hands of Taylor Gatling, Jr., and a substantial minority share held by a private hedge fund controlled by recently retired generals. The company currently employs more than three thousand people worldwide, including Gama Guards. Not bad for a Delta Force captain with good connections. The guy put the pedal to the metal and went from zero to a billion in seven years. It’s all very cozy, although—and this is what knocks me out—not even slightly illegal.”
“Were you able to ascertain specifics on the torture allegations?” Jack asks, looking up from his notebook.
“Just what was mentioned by reporters who covered the Congressional investigations. Most of the details are redacted. But whatever support the GSG crews provided, apparently it didn’t involve waterboarding. They were adamant about that. When someone asked about chemical interrogations—administering powerful drugs to suspects—the committee went into closed session. Nothing on the record, not that I can get a hold of.”
Naomi’s eyes are almost as bright as Teddy’s. “Chemical interrogation,” she says. “That’s what happened to Shane.”
The young hacker appears to be full to bursting. “And I saved the best for last. You’ll never guess where Gatling Security Group world headquarters is located.”
I get the distinct impression that Naomi does, in fact, know the location, that the interesting factoid has already surfaced in her remarkable mind, but she’s circumspect enough to let him complete the thought.
“Pease International Tradeport in Newington, New Hampshire,” he says, triumphant. “Less than fifty miles from here by air. A former military base with a massive runway. You could land a 747 there, no problem.”
“Or a stealth helicopter,” Naomi adds.
“Exactly,” says Teddy. “Pretty cool, huh?”
Chapter Thirty-Five
Mr. Invisible and the Hands of Iron
Jack Delancey, bird-watcher.
He’s costumed appropriately, in a floppy hat, khaki walking pants, waterproof hiking boots and a shirt with way too many pockets. Binoculars of course. That’s what makes the disguise so useful, the ability to wander around with a pair of powerful lenses, supposedly looking for an eagle nesting area. Part of the nature trail, conveniently marked on a handout map, that parallels the vast concrete runway area at the Tradeport. So he’s got a great excuse to be clocking the old airbase where, it is said, eagles do actually soar, rising on currents of hot air over the runways. This despite a steady stream of civilian aircraft still using the facility, as well as a National Guard refueling unit. Maybe the eagles are smart enough to get out of the way, or maybe that’s why they are, as the saying goes, rare birds.