the world around Shaw. A hot, muddied clump lands on his lap, the camera turns to—a human face—there is only the face—eyes open wide, mouth an O of surprise.
Shaw screams
“Billy! Oh, God, Billy!”
Shaw’s agony overtakes the fury of battle.
The video cuts to dawn and Shaw narrates.
“Billy’s gone, Kleat’s gone and Big John. They’re all gone. The enemy outnumbered us. They overran us in the night. Six survivors of the squad retreated to a new position. Three of our men were killed; six of our team were captured. From our location we could see the enemy celebrating their victory by desecrating the corpses of our fallen men. It went on for days.”
The video jumps to a long grainy shot of three bodies hanging from a bridge, then dragged naked through a public square while laughing children followed. Townspeople urinated on the corpses, then they were dismembered; village dogs carried off body parts, others were burned.
“We wanted to get our six men out. Through surveillance we determined their location and launched a night- rescue attempt. Again, we came under heavy fire, were repelled. Luckily we took no casualities and retreated. We had no support. Promised support never showed. We realized we were set up, sacrificed. So we began a long hike from the zone to the nearest coalition outpost. We wanted to regroup and rescue our men. Along the way we met an international aid group that agreed to serve as our go-between with the insurgents and the local clan leaders.
“Eventually, word came back to us that our men were being held by assholes calling themselves the New Guardians of the National Revolutionary Movement. They said our guys had been tried and found guilty of crimes against humanity and had been sentenced to beheading unless we paid a twelve-million-dollar fine. Now, as I make this video, the deadline to pay is nearly upon us.
“When we turned to our contractors to reach out to coalition governments for help, we were warned that we had most likely ‘committed unsanctioned acts of war,’ and that we were contractually bound to silence, and disclosure of any information would lead to our prosecution. This thing never happened, they told us—which meant our men had been left to die.
“This was a betrayal. It was unacceptable to us. We took action. We quietly reached out to our friends for support and launched Operation Retribution. Our objective was to take strategic military steps against the powers who sacrificed us, to obtain the ransom and save our men.”
The video cut back to Harlee Shaw in his Yonkers apartment and panned the newspaper reports on the four killings in the Ramapo heist.
“But I could not go through with it. It was meant to be bloodless, but I knew people would die. Too much was at stake. I backed out. I’m so sorry, for deserting my people, for everything that happened the way it did, for the guards, the agent. I don’t know what’s going to happen to our guys overseas or even if they’re still alive. God help them and God help me. All I can see is Billy’s face on my lap—he haunts me.
“Mr. Gannon, I leave it all with you now.
“Goodbye.”
The video ended.
Gannon cupped his hands over his face. This was unbelievable. How would he approach the story now? He had to report this. But there were complications.
He took stock of the newsroom.
He’d have to go to the senior editors. They’d likely have to call the WPA’s lawyers. All right, before he went to the brass, Gannon looked at the memory card, then back at his monitor. He immediately duplicated the video and emailed a copy to his private online account.
The instant he finished, his landline rang.
“Jack Gannon, WPA.”
“Hi, it’s Lisa, from the other day.”
“Lisa. I thought you were out of town.”
“We’re north of Albany at a little place call Hudson Falls, on our way to our cabin,” she said. “I’m ready to give you the interview tomorrow, so why don’t you come up tonight. I’ve got your card. I’ll text you directions before my phone goes out of service. It’s about a four-hour drive. There’s a good motel you can stay at. We can talk in the morning.”
“Great, I’ll leave this evening. But why the sudden change?”
“I thought it would be good for me now, you know.”
“No.”
“Well, since they got the other three guys in San Francisco.”
“What?”
“I just heard it on the radio news. I figured you knew?”
Gannon looked around then went online. His news alert had been turned off. He typed a few commands and there it was—
“I just got it now.”
“That makes four,” Lisa said. “That means they got all of them. That was our deal, so I’ll tell you my story in the morning.”
Gannon spotted Lisker across the newsroom, storming his way.
“Yes, send me the directions,” Gannon told Lisa. “I’ll be there tonight. Wait! Is there any contact number or email for you? Didn’t you say something about poor phone or internet service?”
“There’s none in the area where our cabin is. We can meet at the motel cafe. I’ll put the time and stuff in my directions.”
“Gannon!” Lisker shouted. “Conference room! Now!”
Hal Ford, Carter O’Neill, George Wilson, Margot Cooke and Lisker had gathered at one end of the table, huddled around the teleconference speakerphone.
“How did we get skunked by the Associated Press?” O’Neill asked. “Gannon, did you have any inkling of this?”
“No, nothing.”
“How the hell did we get such a butt-whooping?” O’Neill asked.
“They’ve got good sources in the Bay Area, Carter,” the voice of Jasmine Lane, the WPA’s San Francisco bureau chief, crackled over the speaker. “They’re strong here, but we’re chasing it.”
“We break news, not learn it from competitors,” O’Neill said.
“Jasmine, do you want us to send Gannon out to help?” Lisker said.
Gannon objected and was shaking his head.
“No, let us work on it,” Lane said. “We’ll match it and advance it.”
“Jasmine, this is Jack. I’ve got calls into my sources. I’ll send anything I pick up. I also have a couple of breaking elements that I need to discuss with everyone here.”
“Thanks, Jack. Any help will be appreciated,” Lane said.
Margot Cooke, the WPA’s news features editor, said, “With four suspects arrested, it sounds to me that the FBI may have them all now.”
“Looks that way,” Ford said.
“So,” Cooke continued, “if it’s winding down, we’re going to want to get into the anatomy of the heist. Jack, can you draft something for us?”
“Yes, but first, there’s something you have to see.”
Gannon quickly explained to the editors who Harlee Shaw was, his connection to him and Shaw’s suicide. Lisker pursed his lips but said nothing as Gannon then inserted the memory card in the conference room laptop and played Shaw’s video. As it ran, a few jaws dropped and a few heads shook. Afterward, the editors started into a
