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“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: The chances of finding that envelope among the X-many million overnight envelopes that UPS and FedEx handle every day are right up there with my chances of being taken bodily into Heaven.
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. “Major General Terrence O’Toole lives there, next door to General McNab.”
“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 El Diario de El Paso. Two men wearing balaclava masks stood beside him, holding machetes.
“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 F??lix 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 Félix 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.
