McNab closed the lid of the Brick, and then met D’Alessandro’s eyes.
“That was interesting, wasn’t it, Vic?”
“The word that comes to mind is ‘scary,’” D’Alessandro said.
[THREE]
Office of the FBI Liaison Officer
United States Special Operations Command
Fort Bragg, North Carolina
0750 14 April 2007
When Charles D. Stevens walked into his office, his telephone was ringing. Since his secretary had not yet arrived, he answered it himself.
“FBI, Stevens.”
“Max Caruthers, Stevens. Where the hell have you been? The general’s been looking for you since oh-seven-hundred. No answer at your house, and none at your office until now.”
Stevens had a mental picture of McNab’s huge senior aide-de-camp.
“I must have been driving to work,” Stevens said.
“You didn’t answer your cell phone, either,” Caruthers accused.
Stevens decided that Caruthers would not be interested in his explanation for not answering his cell phone. Not only was talking on a cell phone while driving against the law, he regarded it as dangerous, too.
“What can the FBI do for General McNab, Colonel? Aside from getting that envelope you were asking for? That should be delivered sometime this morning.”
“General McNab’s compliments, Mr. Stevens. The general would appreciate seeing you at your earliest convenience in his office,” Caruthers said, paused, and then finished: “. . . where we have had that envelope since oh-five-fifteen.”
Chuck Stevens?
?who had willed himself to walk slowly from Foggy Bottom to the SPECOPSCOM headquarters building; “I’m an FBI Inspector, not some PFC who has to run whenever his master whistles”—arrived five minutes later in McNab’s office.
He found Colonel J. J. Tufts, the liaison officer of the Defense Intelligence Agency, and Colonel Christopher Dawson, the USCENTCOM liaison officer, already there. And so was Mr. Victor D’Alessandro, about whom Stevens knew very little, except that it was rumored he had something to do with the ultra-secret Gray Fox unit, about which Stevens also knew very little, and that D’Alessandro was sort of a confidant of General McNab.
Colonel Max Caruthers was not in McNab’s office, which surprised Stevens.
“Thank you for coming so quickly, Mr. Stevens,” General McNab greeted him. “Can we get you a cup of coffee?”
“No, thank you, sir,” Stevens said.
“Well, here it is,” McNab said, handing him a large translucent plastic envelope. “The envelope we have been looking for. I place it in your capable hands, confident that the FBI experts at Quantico will find something useful for you.”
“Thank you,” Stevens said.
“I have made photocopies of the contents. I didn’t think to ask permission first. I hope that doesn’t pose any problems.”
“I don’t see why it should, General,” Stevens said.
“As I was just explaining to these gentlemen,” McNab said, nodding toward Colonel Tufts and Colonel Dawson, “my official role in this whole affair is not much more than that of a spectator. Colonel Ferris and Warrant Officer Salazar were detached to the DEA before they were sent to Mexico.
“I can only presume that those who kidnapped Colonel Ferris are unaware of this, by which I mean they don’t know that I have no authority even to reply to their messages. The only thing I can do is follow the protocol laid down by USCENTCOM to deal with matters like this. Under that protocol, I am required to immediately notify my immediate superior—that is, General Naylor—when something like this—like the envelope arriving here—occurs. I did so immediately after opening the envelope. General Naylor ordered me to transfer the envelope and its contents to the FBI, and I have just done so. He also directed me to give copies of everything to Colonels Tufts and Dawson for their respective headquarters. And he gave me permission to retain a copy.
“Therefore, my official role in this is over, at least until General Naylor gives me further orders. On a personal note, however, Colonel Ferris is a friend of mine, and I would like to thank you personally, Mr. Stevens, for your help.”