The Puppetmasters Page 4

  He leaned forward. “I demand to know why we are here. This is unconscionable; people have been killed here! Do you know who we are? This is going to cause an international incident!”

  The general roared, stabbing his index finger into the air, “Silence! Empty your pockets now!” He turned his head and barked an order for his captain to enter and gather the discarded items. Two soldiers—sans weapons—entered with a large plastic bag.

  Fields and Carson emptied their pockets and looked on helplessly as the soldiers gathered up all their personal belongings. Kendall felt sick when she saw her purse going into the bag and wondered if she’d ever see it again. Fields could barely hand over the keys to his brand new Bugatti Veyron Super Sport. Carson was shaking as he handed over his cell phone … his last link to the outside world.

  The general, observing their defeated expressions, threw back his head and laughed derisively. “No one knows where you are, and they won’t until our issues have been dealt with.” Fields and Carson exchanged glances, thinking, Oh, that little matter!

  Carson mumbled in a pleading, somewhat whiny tone, “What issues? There has been a mistake. We don’t know what you’re talking about. If you’ll let us go, we’ll get a pilot here. We promise not to notify the United Nations of what you’ve done.”

  With a red face, the general poked his finger into Carson’s chest. “No talking! You will all follow me. I will take you to your rooms for the night, and you will be meeting with President Mujtaba Shazeb tomorrow.”

  The general was not without a sense of humor. With a grand gesture he proclaimed, “I hope you enjoy your stay here.”

  In a proud and haughty manner, the general then raised his head and turned around. The three employees were marched to a waiting panel van and taken to a nearby military compound. They were separated and each assigned small, comfortably sparse rooms—locked from the outside. The windowless rooms had dingy, whitewashed walls. Unknown to the trio, their rooms were adjacent to each other. The three were relieved to find they had a tiny but fairly clean bathroom in their room. It consisted of a toilet, pedestal sink, and shower stall, with one large whitish-gray-colored towel hanging on the stall door. While the water pressure was practically non-existent, they were grateful they had not been thrown into a prison, considering the way they had been treated so far. Kendall was thrilled with the meager amenities. Thank God! Indoor plumbing … a real toilet, and not a hole in the ground!

  They were each brought a set of poorly made clothes to change into that consisted of ill-fitting jeans, undergarments, and a gauzy shirt, with a hijab for Kendall to wear on her head when she left her room. While Afghanistan had long since moved away from the strict requirement of a chador or burka in the cities, it still adhered to a modest dress code for its citizens, primarily the women.

  A weak bowl of Afghan soup, or Shorma, and thick fresh bread called obi naan were brought to the “guests.” They were given an orange for dessert and Chai tea to drink. The Orion people, sitting on the one chair at the little table next to their rock-hard single beds, ate in silence … each bone-weary and lost in thought.

  Later, as the trio lay in their respective beds, their minds circled back to the last twenty-four hours. Kendall thought of Jeremy, who didn’t even know what was happening to her. For that matter, no one knew that her travel arrangements had been changed and that she was now on an Orion Premier chartered flight. Tears slid down her face. For the first time in her life, she felt alone and vulnerable. Fields and Carson were thinking the same thing. However, they also wondered how much the Afghans knew, and how the hell they had found out. All three fell into an exhausted, fitful sleep. Tomorrow would bring some answers but also up the ante.

  CHAPTER NINE

  THE SECURITY TEAM AT ORION Premier was frantic. Eric “Mickey” McDougall received a call from the FBI that the Orion chartered plane had mysteriously disappeared off radar approximately thirty minutes after taking off from Dulles. The Special Agent in Charge, Anthony Zanders, explained that the FAA was fairly certain the plane had not crashed. Evidence of mechanical or catastrophic failure would have shown up on radar or via radio transmission. The last transmission prior to disappearing off radar indicated it was flying at thirty-five thousand feet. Furthermore, the radio communication and plane transponder were purposely de-activated. Zanders could only conclude that something was certainly afoot.

  The FBI was the first agency notified. After being apprised of the details, sketchy as they were, the FBI notified the National Security Agency, or NSA. Within the secret world of cryptology and electronic intelligence, it was generally believed that a new and very dangerous technology had recently been perfected allowing a plane to “go dark” or disappear off radar completely. The unsubstantiated rumor was that during a transponder’s frequency converter process, the codes being transmitted through the standard sequence of pulses was interrupted and altered so as to cancel out the simultaneous receipt and transmission signals. The plane’s flight path could not then be tracked or traced to a destination, not even to a general area. The plane’s heading couldn’t even be determined.

  The NSA was familiar enough with the scuttlebutt within the worldwide intelligence community that it realized the stories it had been hearing were true and that this had to be the first known instance of its use. They now needed to know everything about the occupants of the plane in order to figure out the why and, hopefully, the where.

  Mickey was no fool. He knew something was up. Agent Zanders was not telling him everything. In fact, what exactly was the FBI’s involvement? They had spoken for a few minutes, and Zanders was asking very probing questions. He didn’t seem to have a personal concern about the Orion Premier employees onboard the flight. Mickey caught the hint of a bigger concern.

  “May I call you Mickey?”

  “Certainly. Why is the FBI involved?”

  Agent Zanders knew he had to give some information to gain Mickey’s trust but wasn’t about to reveal the NSA’s involvement. The goal of the phone call was to disclose the event and find out who the passengers were. Knowing full well the worldwide scope of Orion Premier’s products and business in general, Zanders was trying not to think about how high the level of executive was on board that flight. His gut was warning to prepare for the worst. The higher and more well known the executive, the more this looked to be an international incident. It would most certainly then require the involvement of the highest levels of government.

  “Mickey, the FAA informed us shortly after the plane disappeared from radar. Apparently, it is standard protocol when planes chartered by executives go missing. All I know is that a plane chartered by Orion Premier Net Services had disappeared from radar. I imagine that a chartered plane would normally be used for an executive. Therefore, I need to know immediately who was on board. That might help us determine whether this is some sort of kidnapping or extortion attempt.”

  Zanders felt as if he was babbling. In reality, he sounded reasonable, strong, very much in charge, and quite competent. Mickey was straining for signs of stress or indications that he wasn’t getting the full story. He proceeded cautiously.

  “There were two executives on board: the CEO, Paul Fields; and the CFO, Glenn Carson.”

  “What was the nature of their business in DC?”

  Mickey hesitated only because he detested giving away information. He also realized he had to be completely up front given the situation and players involved. He took a deep breath. “They were testifying at a House committee hearing. Unfortunately, I do not know the exact nature of the testimony. Do you think that might have had something to do with the plane going missing? He felt that if he kept them talking, he wouldn’t have to reveal so much about the Orion executives’ itinerary.

  “I have no idea, Mickey.” Again with the low-key, straightforward questions to put Mickey at ease. In a soothing voice, Zanders continued, “I’m just gathering all the facts. You know the drill.”

  Mickey detected a hi
nt of a patronizing tone. His investigation radar signaled a blip. He wondered what was really going on, and realized that he had to keep Zanders talking in order to learn as much as he could.

  “Were the men accompanied by security? If so, how many? And were they your own people?”

  “Shit,” Mickey blurted, and ran his hands through his hair. Zanders waited patiently for him to continue, his senses heightened. He leaned forward in anticipation.

  “Uh, there was no security on the plane trip home. The regular Orion security team stayed behind to attend a training seminar. We’ve never had security issues beyond the usual nutcase emails, letters, and tweets. An Orion security team was set to meet the plane at Boeing field.”

  Zanders frowned, thinking they wouldn’t be making that mistake again. In a clipped tone he said, “I’ll need the names and contact information of the security detail that stayed behind in DC, plus those planning to meet the plane at Boeing field.” He decided to go for broke. “In fact, give me the info on every Orion security team member …” He paused and took a breath, “And make it past and present employees and contractors.”

  Mickey went as red as his thick Scottish mane. “Don’t you think we’re getting a little ahead of ourselves? We don’t even know that a criminal act has occurred, let alone something untoward.” His temper was building. “Do you realize what a violation of privacy it would be to give you that kind of personal info based on the facts you’ve given me so far?”

  Zanders quickly weighed his options whether to tip his hand at this point. He figured that if a kidnapping or extortion event was unfolding, which was what his gut was telling him, that the Orion executives would be safe for the time being. So, it wasn’t crucial this very minute to obtain the personnel data, but he decided to push one last time for the info.

  “Mickey, how about I make you a personal promise that if you’ll give me the info and it turns out that the plane developed mechanical difficulties, I will immediately shred everything you’ve given me.”

  There was no answer as Mickey contemplated the consequences.

  “You know, Mickey, we’re both on the same side. Look at me as an extension of your team. I have better resources than you, and I can get faster answers. Let me help you … Orion! It’s my job—I want to help!” His voice rose to an urgent level, leaving no doubt that he would not take no for an answer.

  Mickey sighed. “Maybe.”

  What the hell? Zanders thought. “I don’t understand. Are you going to give me the info or not?” His frustration showed through quite clearly as he squeezed the phone with one hand, and threw his pen across the room with the other.

  “I will gather the info and decide whether to give it to you tomorrow. It’s going to take me the better part of a day to get it anyway. I will most likely give it to you. Just let me think about it. Maybe this whole thing will resolve by then.”

  Zanders stood up at that point and waved his arm. “Fine. I’ll be in touch with you as things are known. Just for tonight, I’m going to lay low as far as communicating with the families. Would you please inform the two families that the plane has gone missing? Don’t speculate. It’ll only alarm them. Make sure you have them notify you immediately if they are contacted in any way … by email, letter, phone call, tweet, etc. And I’m talking about both home and business communications.”

  “Fields’ and Carson’s professional emails, letters, tweets, and phone calls are all accessed, reviewed, and, for the most part, responded to by their executive admins.”

  “I’ll need those names and contact info too. We should know what’s going in the next day. If this develops into something major, I’ll be flying out there and will want to speak to the families immediately. But you should know the FBI is taking point on this investigation. I want and expect your full cooperation.”

  “One other thing, Agent Zanders. I don’t think you understand the global ramifications if this becomes public. Orion Premier Net Services is a Fortune 500 publicly traded company. If this info gets out, the stock is going to take a nosedive.”

  That only mildly concerned Zanders, and he hadn’t really given it much thought. But he needed to at least act like he cared. “Well, then let’s keep this quiet until tomorrow when we have a better handle on the matter. If anyone calls asking for info about the plane going missing, just say that you don’t have any info on it. You know, stall! The DC Air Traffic Control, the FAA, and Boeing Field have been instructed they are not to publicize or even speak about this yet. We also talked to the charter company that owned the plane. That was a little trickier, because it involves huge assets for the company. We, shall we say, persuaded them to remain silent for the time being. Once they were made to see that one of their charter planes going missing wouldn’t be good for business, they were only too willing to stall for a day or two. They have also agreed to provide all of the personnel records for the crew, as well as maintenance records for the plane. So let’s keep in touch.”

  Mickey felt a huge weight on his shoulders. He could only stall for so long. “By close of business tomorrow, the board of directors will need to know what’s going on. I’m not stalling any longer than tomorrow at 5:00 p.m.”

  Zanders was really getting irritated. “Fine! I don’t think we could keep it quiet beyond that anyway. There are already too many people in the loop. Later!”

  They rang off, and Mickey steeled himself for battle. This was not what he had signed on for. This had all the hallmark of an international element. There was definitely something cloak-and-dagger going on. Just how far reaching was it? Or had they let their imaginations run wild when it was nothing more than a simple mechanical failure? That too, could be a catastrophic event for the company.

  He sighed, grabbed his leather jacket and keys, and strode out the door toward the elevator that would take him to his oversized black SUV. He stopped at security and advised them in as nonchalant a tone as possible that the executives’ travel plans had changed. The security team could stand down, and no one needed to meet the plane at Boeing Field. Mickey had never lied like this before, and he felt slightly sick as he began to realize the enormity of the situation.

  He drove out of the company building on Lake Union and merged onto Interstate 5, heading north. After less than a mile, he merged onto 520 eastbound. Fortunately, both executives lived within two miles of each other in the exclusive waterfront community of Hunts Point. He arrived at the Fields estate and parked in the garage off to the side of the main house. He headed to the elegant Mediterranean-style house and stepped up to the colonnade leading to the ornately carved double entry doors. He stared at the elaborate carving that spanned the matching mahogany doors and with a heavy heart finally lifted his arm and pushed the doorbell, which was offset to the side.

  For a moment he got a perverse sense of pleasure from hearing the custom chimes of the doorbell. That was the only feature he had ever liked about this monstrosity of a house. When the chimes stopped playing, and the sound of approaching footsteps brought him out of his reverie, Mickey prepared himself for the coming scene.

  CHAPTER TEN

  KENDALL AWOKE WITH A START when her door was abruptly and violently flung open. It banged against the wall in a crash. She looked around in the dim light—startled and unable to grasp her surroundings. I must be dreaming. Good Lord, please make this a dream! A man accompanied by two soldiers set a tray of food on the small table near her bed and told her—in broken English—that she had thirty minutes to eat, shower, and get dressed to leave. She perked up when she saw a toothbrush and some unknown brand of toothpaste on the tray. Thank God … they are civilized! She couldn’t tell if it was new and wouldn’t allow herself to go there.

  She flew into action and choked down the round sweet flatbread or Roht … the local breakfast fare. It came with a small bowl of thick plain yogurt, apricots, and more Chai tea. I hope I don’t get sick! She was in and out of the shower in five minutes, pausing a bit longer to smell the fragrant shampoo.
Hmm … smells like pomegranate. The bar soap in the shower looked old and dirty. Kendall was thoroughly grossed out but used it anyway, desperately scraping off the outer layer of dirt and sweat with her fingernails. When half an hour had passed, Kendall was pacing the floor while running her fingers through her hair, trying to both dry and comb it. She had put on the ill-fitting clothes and looked quite lost in the oversized garments. At least the jeans fit her just enough so as not to fall off.

  Precisely at thirty minutes, the door was pushed open, and the same man who brought the tray walked in a few feet, looking at the empty plate and then to Kendall. He appraised her wet hair and pointed to the hijab. “You will wear hijab like all Afghanistan women when you go out. Put it on now! Hurry!”

  She quickly picked it up and pulled it over her head and shoulders. The fit was snug and completely masked her wet hair. In fact, it covered every inch of her shoulder-length hair.

  Kendall was led to a large room that looked to be a conference room of sorts. Fields and Carson were already there, trying not to look anxious. Fields frowned when he saw her, and Carson looked guilty. She caught both expressions, and had the distinct impression they knew what all of this was about. Carson wondered if he should ask that she be set free. But he was afraid they would use her as a bargaining chip or, worse, dispose of her altogether. To be safe, for the time being he decided to say nothing.

  The three were escorted by General Faisal Omar to an awaiting, much-used military transport truck. As they climbed into the large, jeep-like truck, Kendall quickly looked around at the compound they were at. She saw they had stayed in a building that was surrounded on all sides by identical long rectangular barracks constructed of concrete and rebar. The whole look was that of a utilitarian environment. No attempt was made to adorn or even soften the surroundings. Strangely, the place was quiet. She had no idea that the presence of the three Americans was known only to a handful of people at the base. Most of the ordinary soldiers had been dispatched to the training areas outside the base.