“Siberia.” Most liaison officers felt that Lieutenant General Bruce J. McNab regarded them as spies for their superiors, and that they were treated accordingly. They rarely saw him in person after their first brief chat with him on their assignment. They dealt with Major General Terrence O’Toole, the SPECOPSCOM deputy commander.
O’Toole had summoned Charles D. Stevens, the FBI liaison officer, to his office two days before.
“This is in connection with Colonel Ferris,” he said, getting right to the point. “You’re aware of the package the general received with Ferris’s photo?”
Stevens had nodded. He knew about the FedEx package. He had learned of it through FBI channels, not from anyone in SPECOPSCOM.
“Neither the CIA nor your laboratory at Quantico was able to learn much-in fact, anything-from it. The fingerprints found on it were useless because it had passed through so many hands.
“The general feels that the next communication from these people will come the same way, that is via either FedEx or UPS. He would like to get his hands on that package before it is handled by everybody and his idiot brother.”
“I understand, General.”
“What the general would like to see the FBI do is to locate that package as soon as it enters the FedEx/UPS process. The package would then be placed, taking care to touch it as little as possible, into another envelope and then sent on its way here. Do you think the FBI can handle that, Mr. Stevens?”
“The FBI will certainly try, General.”
“The general feels that it is highly likely that the address on the package will be different from the address on the original package, which itself was addressed to Lieutenant Colonel McNab, not Lieutenant General McNab, probably to avoid undue attention. So what you should be looking for is an Overnight envelope addressed accordingly, perhaps even addressed to someone in these headquarters, not the general, or to the home address of such people.”
“I understand the reasoning. I’ll get right on it.”
“Thank you. Keep me posted, please.”
FBI Liaison Officer Stevens thought:
This proved to be either unduly pessimistic or a gross underestimation of the enthusiasm with which employees of FedEx or UPS would respond to a request for assistance from the Federal Bureau of Investigation.
Fewer than twenty-four hours later, Stevens received a telephone call from the special agent in charge-the SAC-of the El Paso FBI office, William J. Johnson, who happened to be an old friend.
“I’m in the UPS Store in the Sunland Park Mall in El Paso, Chuck,” the SAC said. “Holding-very carefully, in my rubber gloves-a UPS overnighter addressed to Sergeant Terry O’Toole, Yadkin and Reilly Road, Fort Bragg, North Carolina. Is this what you’re looking for?”
“Yadkin Road and Reilly Street is known as ‘Generals’ Row,’” Stevens said. “
“Say, ‘Thank you, Bill,’” the SAC said. “You want me to open it?”
“Thank you, Bill,” Stevens said. “But don’t open it. General McNab wants us to just put it into another envelope and send it on its way. Anyway, I think opening it would be illegal.”
TWO
Office of the Commanding General United States Special Operations Command Fort Bragg, North Carolina 0530 14 April 2007
Lieutenant General Bruce J. McNab, wearing rubber gloves, carefully opened the UPS Next Day envelope and examined the two sheets of paper it contained. Vic D’Alessandro looked over his shoulder.
One of the sheets was a photograph of an unshaven Lieutenant Colonel James D. Ferris. He was sitting on a chair, holding a copy of the previous day’s
“This time it’s machetes,” D’Alessandro said. “Is that an implied threat to behead him?”
“No more, I would guess, than the guy holding the Kalashnikov the last time was an implied threat to blow his brains out,” McNab said matter-of-factly.
The second sheet of paper was the message:
So Far He’s Still Alive.
If you would be willing to return Felix Abrego to his family we would be willing to return Colonel Ferris to his.
Place a classified ad in El Diario de El Paso as follows for the next four days:
“Always interested in Mexican business opportunities. Write Businessman, PO Box 2333, El Paso, Texas, 79901”
“Who’s Felix Abrego, I wonder?” McNab said.
“One of the drug guys we have in the slam, seems likely,” D’Alessandro replied.
“I’m sure the FBI will be able to tell us.”
“Charley asked that you provide him with intel,” D’Alessandro said. “Does this count as intel?”
“As you know, Lieutenant Colonel Castillo, Retired, no longer has a security clearance, Mr. D’Alessandro. However, I would suppose that one or more of his former associates in the Special Operations and intelligence communities would feel that the national security would not be seriously compromised if he somehow learned about this.”
D’Alessandro nodded his understanding.
McNab leaned forward and pulled the red telephone connected to the Central Command circuit toward himself. He pushed 6, and then the LOUDSPEAKER button.
There was the sound of three rings, and then a somewhat metallic voice said, “General Naylor.”
“Bruce McNab, General. I regret waking you at oh dark hundred, but. .”
“What’s on your mind, General?”
“. . the protocol requires that I immediately notify C-in-C CENTCOM if something of this nature comes up, and something has.”
“What have you got, General?”
“There has been a second communication from the people who are holding Colonel Ferris. This one was sent UPS Next Day from El Paso, addressed to ‘Sergeant’ Terry O’Toole. It contained a photo of Colonel Ferris holding a copy of yesterday’s
“Please.”
McNab did so.
“Who is Felix whatever?” Naylor asked.
“We don’t know. As soon as I can get the FBI liaison officer in here, I’m going to ask him to find out. I would guess he’s someone we have in prison.”
“Probably,” Naylor said. “This message reached you last night?”
“About fifteen minutes ago.”
“UPS delivers at. . a little after oh-five-hundred?”
“What I did, General, was ask the FBI to see if they could intercept any new messages as soon as they entered the UPS or FedEx systems. And they were successful. Mr. Stevens, the FBI liaison officer, called last night to report that this message, this envelope, had been intercepted in El Paso. When it arrived in Fayetteville, Vic D’Alessandro was waiting for it.”
“And what are your plans now, General?” Naylor asked.
“What I’m planning to do, General, is first send you photocopies of the envelope and its contents. Then I
