Operation Mockingbird (18 page)

Matt and Yvonne had been close friends during their time at the University of Miami. Both sports enthusiasts, they had started a fantasy football league on campus. While the league became quite successful and the prize for first place substantial, neither one of them really cared about the money. The league was just an excuse to trash talk each other’s players and team performance through the long football season and to give themselves a reason to get together periodically to watch a good game.

Matt hated funerals, memorial services and any other reminders of lives tragically cut short. Yet here he was, driving back from Yvonne Alfonso’s wake. He hadn’t been looking forward to it, but when he had found out about Yvonne’s accident and called her parents to express his condolences, he had promised Yvonne’s mom he would be there. He and Alex talked about it before and, according to plan, had stayed just long enough to allow Matt to pay his respects. Now they were on their way back to meet Patrick at The Keg before it closed.

Just as he was pulling out of the funeral home, Matt’s cell phone rang. He saw it was Dana and answered it quickly, hoping for some good news.

“Matt, we need to talk,” she said without saying hello.

“We’re talking,” Matt snapped back.

“In person, Matt.”

“I can’t right now, Dana. What’s going on?”

“I got a call from Commissioner Suarez,” she said after a moment. “He asked me what you are doing back in Miami and what you are working on.”

While Matt and Dana were dating and before Matt had made himself a pariah in the Miami social scene as a result of his encounter with Commissioner Suarez, Dana and Matt had run into the commissioner at many political fundraisers and charity events. Commissioner Suarez had always been kind to Dana, a fellow public servant, as the commissioner liked to say. Matt suspected his kindness had more to do with the fact that her parents were extremely large contributors to his campaigns.

“What did you tell him?” Matt asked.

“The truth. As far as I knew you were just getting settled back into town.”

“So, what’s the problem?”

“He didn’t buy it. He thinks you’re up to something.”

“We need to talk about this,” Dana persisted when Matt didn’t respond. “Where are you?”

“I’m on my way back from Yvonne Alfonso’s memorial service.”

“Oh, yeah. I heard about her accident. Matt, I’m sorry.” She paused before continuing. “Where was it held?”

“In Marco Island. I’m just leaving there now,” Matt replied quickly changing subjects. “Did you find something out about Mo?”

“I really don’t want to do this over the phone, Matt. Can’t we meet when you get back?”

“Just tell me what you found out.” Matt looked over and saw Alex watching him. The phone conversation was hard to ignore in the confines of his Jeep.

Dana didn’t respond.

“Dana, in about five minutes I’m going to be going through the Everglades and cell phone service will be sketchy. Can you just tell me what you found out? Please.”

She sighed deeply before beginning. “I heard it from a confidential source that Mo has been sent to Mogadishu for questioning.”

Matt’s mouth dropped open and for several seconds he couldn’t find any words.

“Dana, are you saying Mo was picked and shipped off as part of the extraordinary renditioning program?” He finally said.

“Yes, Matt, that’s what I’m saying.”

Matt’s stomach clenched. Since 9/11, potential terror suspects were regularly picked up and taken in for interrogation -- without any type of trial or legal proceeding and usually to a place that had a higher tolerance for extreme interrogation techniques. Mogadishu, the capital city of Somalia, was one such example. The CIA had a huge operation there, with its own building, hangar and planes. They used the basement as a secret prison to get information out of suspected terrorists they had snatched up from all over the world.

Taking them off U.S. soil and denying any activities of this kind left the agency free to use “extraordinary rendition,” otherwise known as torture, to get information out of the prisoners. Some said it was great way to get
valuable information. Others noted that people would confess to just about anything to stop torture. Either way, President Obama had promised to shut down all the CIA “black sites,” but many of them were still open and running.

“Dana, you’ve got to stop this.”

“Are you kidding? I have no idea how to get him out of there -- I’m not even supposed to know he’s there.”

“We need to meet, Matt,” Dana continued when Matt didn’t respond. “We need to figure out how we’re going to handle this.”

Matt paused and thought about his plans to meet Patrick at the Keg later than evening. “I have something I need to do first. I’ll call you afterwards.”

“What do you have to do, Matt? What could possibly be more important than helping Mo?” Dana said harshly.

“I’ll call you back and we’ll figure this out.”

“Matt-”

Matt punched the disconnect button and tossed the phone onto the center console. He looked over and saw Alex staring at him, eyebrows raised. Matt didn’t say anything as he turned his eyes back to the road. But his mind was whirring. He couldn’t help but think about Mo. And renditioning. And torture.

Matt left Marco Island and headed back toward Miami. Marco Island is a large barrier island located off the coast of southwest Florida. In order to get back to Miami, which was almost directly due East, Matt needed to travel across the state of Florida through the Everglades, the subtropical wetlands that covers much of the southern
portion of the Florida peninsula. Over the years, the boundary between the protected wetlands and the Miami suburbs had become blurred and Tamiami Trail, the road running through the Florida Everglades, was one example of that. Although the highway linked two major cities, the drive was about as rural as you could get. Nothing to see for miles but grassy wetlands and the alligators that frequented the waterways beside the road and often sunned themselves on the road.

Running along Tamiami Trail and throughout the Everglades were canals constructed in the early part of the twentieth century to prevent flooding in low-lying areas, especially during the summer months of heavy rain and tropical storms. The system was working overtime this week. The canals were swollen from two days of heavy rain and the black-top was slick from the torrent which continued to beat down on it.

Matt looked down at his watch and noticed they would need to hurry to catch Patrick. Fortunately, at this time of night and on this particularly lonely stretch of highway, the only other car on the street was the one behind them. Matt still didn’t know Patrick’s last name or telephone number and had no idea how he would reach him if he missed him at the bar. He pressed on the accelerator. The old Jeep responded immediately.

“How are you holding up, Matt?” Alex asked.

“I’m fine,” Matt said looking over. She was staring at him skeptically. So he gave her a tight smile. “Really,” Matt confirmed.

Matt could feel Alex watching him, as if waiting for him to say something else. He continued to focus on the road ahead. After a few moments, she pulled out her cell phone and began thumbing away.

Matt checked the rear-view mirror. The car behind them hadn’t fallen back when he’d accelerated and was very close behind -- too damn close. Judging from the position of the headlights, it was an SUV. He hated tailgaters, especially when it was raining. He shot another glance at the rear-view mirror and noticed what looked like two male figures in the front seats. If the roads hadn’t been so wet, he would have tapped on the brakes to send a message.

A moment later he had to slow down as they approached a sharp curve in the road, but he saw that the SUV didn’t follow suit. He looked away when high beams filled his rearview mirror.

“Idiots,” he muttered.

Just then, the SUV struck the car from behind. The impact pushed them against their shoulder restraints, but Matt held the wheel steady.

“What the hell?” Alex said turning to look back.

“Dammit!” Matt said as he slowed down, intending to pull over onto the muddy right shoulder of the road. “We don’t have time for this.”

He briefly checked the rearview mirror and then did a double take as he saw the SUV right on his tail. They were not slowing down.

“Oh, shit!” He braced himself just as the vehicle slammed into the back of the Jeep again.

Alex screamed.

“Alex, hang on!” He slammed the gearshift into second and stomped on the gas pedal. The Jeep slid on the slick shoulder. The tires spun uselessly as they failed to gain traction. Then finally, the tires connected with the pavement and the Jeep leapt forward. Back on the road, Matt struggled with the steering wheel, the Jeep slewing dangerously on the wet pavement.

“What’s going on?” Alex shouted.

Matt pulled away from the car behind them and raced around a curve.

“Apparently the idiot behind us is not very happy with us,” Matt responded. He narrowed his eyes, alternating between the piss-poor view of the road ahead and the black monster behind them. Rain pelted the windshield as the wipers struggled to keep up.

Matt braced himself as he saw the vehicle move in again. This time, he was prepared for the impact but he caught a glimpse of Alex being roughly thrown forward before the seatbelt jerked her back to the seat.

A yellow sign indicated they were approaching another curve in the road. There was no slowing down. The SUV was right on his ass.
Damn,
Matt thought.
We’re approaching too fast.
He glanced over at Alex. With the fingers of one hand gripping the dashboard and the other clenched tightly around her seatbelt, she was staring straight ahead. As they took another hit and Alex flew forward again, Matt realized the Jeep wasn’t going to make the turn.

He slammed on the brakes, felt pressure for a moment and then nothing. They were riding a swell of water along the slick asphalt. He downshifted and started pumping the
brake pedal, but it was too late and there wasn’t enough road. The Jeep slid off the road, planed across the wet grass and crashed through the steel guardrail, continuing its wild ride through some high saw grass and down a slight embankment. Finally, the Jeep crashed into the canal. A thick stream of water sprayed over the windshield. The lights went out and they were plunged into darkness just as the driver’s side air bag exploded in Matt’s face, pushing his head back against the headrest and taking his breath away.

The seat belt held him in a vise grip, constricting tightly against his chest. Matt struggled to see past the air bag. The Jeep was stuck at a sharp angle so its hood was almost completely submerged, while the back of the Jeep was high above the water, the rear tires apparently maintaining some traction with the embankment. Water soaked Matt’s shoes and continued to rise quickly up his pant legs. Breathing became easier as the seat belt slowly released its grip.

Matt reached around the air bag and found the steering wheel, then the column and finally the ignition. He pulled the keys out and fumbled for his Swiss army knife key chain. It was one of the smaller, cheaper versions. Not too many options. A corkscrew, a bottle opener and a knife. He found the knife on the first try. He plunged the knife into the air bag. It didn’t penetrate. He pressed the bag against the steering wheel, making the plastic taunt, and struck again. He punctured the bag and it began to deflate.

Matt looked over to Alex and saw that she was unconscious.

“Alex,” Matt said as he leaned over and shook her shoulder. “Alex, wake up.”

She didn’t move. He cupped her chin and turned her face toward him. She had an ugly welt on the right side of her face.

The front of the Jeep sank farther. The water was now at Matt’s lap and rising quickly. He heard a roar from behind. He turned to see the SUV backing up, apparently getting ready to finish the job. Matt reached over and began shaking Alex, harder this time. As Matt had leaned toward Alex, he had taken his foot from the brake. With nothing stopping it, the back tires lost their hold on the embankment and the Jeep slipped headlong into the black canal.

More water poured in, filling the vehicle.

The SUV’s final hit from behind plunged the Jeep into the canal, but it had also liberated Matt from his seatbelt. He floated around the front of the Jeep. He fumbled in the darkness but had no idea where he was and in what direction he was facing. Floating up, Matt found a pocket of air beneath the roof of the Jeep. He gulped it in. He felt around and scanned his new surroundings. He was in the back of the Jeep. It was pointed nose down with the back still slightly elevated but sinking quickly.

Alex.

Matt took a deep breath and plunged back into the water. He felt his way forward and down. He found the space between the front seats. Grabbing the front seats, he pulled himself forward and then reached to the right. He touched Alex’s shoulder. She was conscious now and
struggling against her seatbelt. Her eyes were wide with panic. Seeing him, she relaxed slightly, allowing him to reach down and unlock the seat belt. Grabbing the front of her shirt, he pulled her to the back of the Jeep, guiding her between the two front seats and up to the air pocket.

Air. Sweet mother of God, we need air.

They finally reached the back of the Jeep, both gasping. Matt noticed that the space had decreased significantly. There was only enough room for their faces as they pressed them upward, their lips brushing the roof of the Jeep as they inhaled the last remaining oxygen. They didn’t have much time.

Matt could make out lights flitting across the canal. The men were still out there. But the air was running out. Matt looked over at Alex. He could see in her eyes that she knew it. They had no time left. They had to go back into the water.

“Wait here,” he sputtered.

Matt plunged back into the water. He had driven the Jeep since he was nineteen. He knew every inch of it. He pulled himself to the front and turned himself around so that he was on his back. He was curled into a ball, his legs pointed in the direction of the driver’s side window. He kicked the window. The impact reverberated through his legs and lower back. The force pushed him against the passenger side window. He reached up and used his hands to brace himself against the passenger side window, curled his legs up and, again, kicked hard against the driver’s side window. Again and again. He heard the window crack and
finally break. With his shoes he swept away the glass remaining around the window frame.