The Curious Case of the Missing Head

by Gabriel Farago

  ‘Exactly,’ said Rodrigo, pleased to see his gamble was paying off. He knew his client well and just like in the courtroom, he carefully shaped his tactics to suit the persona and the situation.

  ‘How would you approach this?’ asked Cordoba.

  ‘We have the IT guys we need right here to set this up. They know all about encryption and how to make sure the auction site can’t be shut down. That’s important. It shouldn’t be difficult and it shouldn’t take them too long. We create a non-traceable website on the dark web with, say, the Stolzfus video and some other sensational material to create interest, and go from there.’

  Rodrigo paused, and for a little while just looked out the window. ‘Then we drive traffic to the site using social media,’ he continued. ‘This too will go viral, I’m sure of it. These things have a momentum of their own. We’ve seen this with women being auctioned on the dark web. You’ve seen what happened. This is no different. The bids are visible and so is the clock, but the bidders and their locations remain hidden and can’t be traced.’

  ‘Right. Then what?’

  ‘First, I speak to the ambassador here in Bogota and tell him what’s coming. A little advance notice should prepare the way and apply pressure. Then we ask Rogan to call the New York Times again, suggesting another article to announce the auction. Sensational stuff. The paper will love it. That should do it. After that, the whole world will be watching. I promise!’

  ‘The Americans will be furious.’

  ‘That’s what we want, isn’t it? Pressure. And there’s no greater pressure than the public. The mob. Even the Romans were afraid of it.’

  Cordoba, a practical man, nodded. ‘Tell Agabe to keep Stolzfus calm. We need a genius with a voice or we have nothing to sell,’ he said.

  ‘Leave that to me. We start the auction clock as soon as the current deadline expires, which is in about twenty-four hours. Unless we hear from the Americans first, that is.’

  ‘Is that likely?’

  Rodrigo shrugged. ‘Anything can happen here.’

  ‘We are making some very powerful enemies,’ said Cordoba quietly.

  ‘Does that bother you?’

  ‘Not at all.’ Cordoba lit a small cigar. ‘On the contrary, I like it.’

  ‘The stakes are very high here.’

  ‘I understand that. That’s why I like it.’

  ‘I thought you would say that. I better go and start the ball rolling. Time’s ticking.’

  ‘By the way, have you noticed that Rahima seems to have a new spring in her step?’ said Cordoba.

  ‘Perhaps she can sense that Alonso is coming home?’ ventured Rodrigo.

  ‘I hope you’re right. She seems to be spending quite a bit of time with Rogan …’

  ‘I noticed that too. Do you mind?’

  ‘No. On the contrary. He’s an intelligent man. Quite charming, and we need his cooperation. The more we engage with him the better. Make him feel he’s part of this, not just some prisoner we dragged over here.’

  ‘I agree. This can’t be easy for Rahima. A little distraction may do her good.’

  ‘You’re right. Rogan’s an interesting man … there’s a lot more to him than meets the eye. Pity we couldn’t have met under different circumstances.’

  Rodrigo looked at his client, surprised. For someone who lived like a recluse and shied away from people, to say something like that was unusual. And what was even more remarkable was the fact that Cordoba had only met Rogan once, briefly. Rodrigo had sensed that something must have triggered this and was wondering what it could have been. And Rahima, too, seems drawn to him, he thought, shaking his head. For someone who studied people and their behaviour for a living, matters like this were always of interest.

  Without saying another word, Rodrigo left the room and went back to his office to call the ambassador.

  50

  On the USS Endeavor, off the coast of Colombia: 16 July, 10:00 am

  The USS Endeavor, a giant, nuclear-powered Nimitz-class aircraft carrier, was sailing in carrier strike group (CSG) formation south towards the Colombian Pacific coast. With an overall length of three hundred and thirty-three metres and a displacement of more than one hundred thousand tonnes, it was capable of a maximum speed of thirty knots. Because it was powered by two A4W pressurised water reactors, the ship could operate for more than twenty years without refuelling.

  Steam catapults and arrestor wires on its angled flight deck for launch and recovery gave the ship more efficient flight operations capabilities than smaller carriers, and with more than ninety aircraft deployed, it had awesome firepower. Its strike fighters were state-of-the-art F/A-18E and F/A-18F Super Hornets. Five hundred and fifty officers and five and a half thousand enlisted crew ensured that the carrier was battle-ready at all times and capable of launching aircraft within minutes.

  The CSG consisted of six additional vessels, including two guided missile cruisers, a destroyer, a guided missile frigate and two attack submarines. The principal function of these vessels was to protect the aircraft carrier from attack.

  ‘This is amazing,’ said Tristan, pointing to the enormous flight deck. It looked like a floating island of steel from above as the helicopter approached the Endeavor and prepared for landing.

  ‘It’s a different world down there,’ said Andersen, a hint of sadness in her voice. ‘It was my world not that long ago.’

  ‘Do you miss it?’

  ‘Sure. But launching Super Hornets from one of these things belongs to the young.’

  ‘But you told me you kept up your flying.’

  ‘I did, and still do. I was an instructor for several years before I joined the CIA. I probably taught most of the pilots here at some time or other.’

  ‘Awesome!’

  Moments later, the helicopter landed and Andersen and Tristan were met by an officer, who quickly ushered them off the noisy flight deck teeming with activity and personnel preparing aircraft for take-off.

  ‘Welcome on board, Major,’ said the officer, saluting smartly. ‘As you can see, we are in the middle of manoeuvres. How did the refuelling go?’

  The MH-60 Seahawk helicopter had a reach of two hundred and forty-five nautical miles, which meant that refuelling at sea had been necessary to allow them to reach the Endeavor.

  ‘Like a charm. We landed twice on a cruiser along the way to refuel after we left San Diego.’

  Amazing what real power can do, thought Andersen as she remembered the meeting with the secretary of state and her boss at Langley two days earlier. One hour after the meeting, Rear Admiral Andrew McBride was instructed to change course and sail towards the Colombian coast, and await further orders. He was also told that Major Andersen would join him shortly and explain everything. The Endeavor had been en route to Hawaii at the time and was due to rendezvous with another CSG for exercises before sailing to the South China Sea.

  McBride was watching one of the 18F Super Hornets take off when Andersen and Tristan were admitted to the bridge.

  ‘Good to see you, Major,’ said McBride, pleased to see one of the most outstanding fighter pilots who had served under his command. ‘It’s been what, four years?’

  ‘About that,’ said Andersen, standing to attention.

  McBride put down his binoculars and looked at Tristan. ‘Your first time on a carrier?’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  ‘I’ll ask one of my officers to show you around while Major Andersen and I have a chat.’

  ‘Later, perhaps if you don’t mind, sir,’ said Andersen. ‘Mr Te Papatahi is part of this operation and has been cleared …’

  McBride looked at Andersen, surprised. ‘As you wish,’ he said. To have a whole CSG change course at such short notice and sail towards a new destination at top speed could mean only one thing: some kind of emergency involving national security, and McBride couldn’t wait to find out what it was.

  ‘You’ve been following the Stolzfus matter?’ began Andersen.

  ‘
Yes, of course. In fact, we’ve just been talking about it in here before you landed. Quite a bizarre case. Why do you ask?’

  Andersen reached into her briefcase and pulled out a copy of the New York Times. ‘Because this operation is all about the Stolzfus case.’ Andersen handed the paper to McBride. ‘Just came out. Front page: “Prominent US scientist to be auctioned on darknet”.’

  McBride read the article. ‘This is crazy,’ he said.

  ‘Perhaps, but very serious and extremely embarrassing for the US in general, and the security services in particular. The public outcry about this has been unprecedented, putting huge pressure on the administration to do something.’

  ‘I can imagine. To be held to ransom by a South American drug lord is unthinkable.’

  ‘And to be threatened in this way is even worse,’ added Andersen. ‘To have a prominent American scientist auctioned like cattle on the darknet is not only humiliating, but, well ... it cannot be allowed to happen.’

  ‘So, where do we fit into all this?’

  ‘How long will it take you to reach the Colombian coast?’

  ‘About forty-eight hours.’

  Andersen bit her lip. Somehow, time was always the problem.

  ‘Where are we right now?’

  McBride pointed to a map table in front of him. ‘Just off the Mexican coast; right here …’

  Andersen looked at her watch. ‘In about two hours, another helicopter will land here.’

  ‘Oh? Why?’

  ‘A very sensitive, top-secret matter.’

  McBride looked at Andersen and raised an eyebrow. Politics more likely, he thought, but held his tongue. As a senior officer in the navy, he knew his place. Decisions that counted were made by politicians, but were implemented by men like him. The president, an elected politician, was the commander-in-chief. He had the final say. An admiral obeyed orders, he didn’t instigate them. Not at that level.

  ‘The helicopter left the Arizona State Prison Complex some time ago. It will refuel along the way, as we have done.’

  ‘The exchange is going ahead?’ said McBride, stunned. ‘Are you serious?’ He couldn’t imagine the US caving in just like that to a brazen demand by a wanted drug baron in a third-world country and sending an entire CSG just to make it possible. There had to be more to it.

  ‘Yes. Stolzfus is a matter of national security. Under no circumstances is he to be allowed to fall into the wrong hands. We will do whatever it takes to get him back. These are my orders, but we have a problem …’

  ‘What kind of problem?’

  ‘Time.’

  ‘Please explain.’

  ‘You just told me it would take about forty-eight hours to reach the Colombian coast. This would take us past the handover deadline by twenty-four hours. If that happens, the auction on the darknet will begin, unless we can renegotiate the timeframe. That’s the problem. We cannot allow that to happen.’

  ‘But surely we could get the prisoner there quicker?’

  Andersen shook her head. ‘The exchange cannot go ahead until the CSG is just off the Colombian coast.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Orders. All I know is that the handover will take place on a deserted beach on the Pacific coast.’

  ‘Do we know where?’

  ‘Not yet.’

  ‘This operation will cost millions.’

  ‘Much more is at stake here than money.’

  McBride knew of course that apart from analysing, collecting and processing foreign intelligence, one of the main functions of the CIA was to carry out covert operations at the behest of the president; operations that officially never happened and could be strenuously denied. To McBride, this had all the hallmarks of just such a top-secret operation, and the CSG under his command was now obviously part of it. McBride knew he had to be vigilant and careful, and the best way to do that was to obey orders and not ask too many questions.

  Andersen sensed his unease. ‘You will of course receive orders in the usual way. I am here merely to fill in the gaps. We are all cogs in the wheel of global politics.’

  Sure, thought McBride and nodded. ‘And Mr Te Papatahi?’

  ‘He will assist with negotiations.’ Andersen knew this was vague, but it would have to do for now. To tell McBride that Tristan had been brought along because he could ‘sense’ things others couldn’t and had a special spiritual bond with Rogan that could come in useful, may have taken things a little too far.

  ‘At the moment, we are negotiating through the US ambassador in Bogota,’ she continued. ‘As soon as the prisoner gets here, we will try to establish contact with his father and allow him to talk to him. We hope that this will buy us the extra time we need, because it will show that we are genuine and doing everything we can to comply with the demand.’

  I don’t believe it, thought McBride. There had to be more to it. You didn’t position a strike force like this off the coast of a foreign country just to hand over a prisoner.

  Andersen pointed to Tristan. ‘We will also try to arrange for Mr Te Papatahi to talk to Jack Rogan. This is important because Rogan is part of the exchange. He is to be handed over at the same time as Stolzfus. That’s the deal as it stands at the moment.’

  Just then an officer walked up to McBride. ‘Apologies for interrupting, sir. The secretary of the navy is on the line, asking for you.’

  Here it comes, thought McBride. He excused himself and followed the officer into the communications room.

  51

  H Cartel Compound, Bogota: 16 July, 5:00 pm

  Rodrigo burst into Cordoba’s observation room. ‘I just heard from the ambassador,’ he said, unable to suppress his excitement.

  ‘And?’

  ‘They are going to do it!’

  ‘They have agreed?’

  ‘Alonso has left the prison and is on his way here,’ said Rodrigo, his voice sounding shrill.

  ‘Calm down. Where is he?’

  ‘On an aircraft carrier.’

  ‘Where?’

  ‘Somewhere off the coast of Mexico.’

  ‘I don’t like this. All I—’

  ‘They are preparing for the handover,’ interrupted Rodrigo. ‘And they are sending an aircraft carrier to do it. We asked for the handover to take place here in Colombia. We told them somewhere on the Pacific coast. We are calling the shots here, and we’ll tell them where when we are ready. What they are doing right now is making this possible, can’t you see? They’ll fly him over from the aircraft carrier and take Stolzfus back there. Makes sense.’

  ‘Hm. When?’

  ‘There’s a small problem …’

  Cordoba lit a cigar and looked at Rodrigo. He didn’t like the way this was going. ‘What kind of problem?’ he asked quietly.

  ‘They need more time.’

  ‘No!’ shouted Cordoba. ‘They are stalling, can’t you see?’

  ‘I don’t think so. It takes the aircraft carrier that long to get here.’

  ‘How much more time?

  ‘Twenty-four hours, that’s all.’

  ‘This is a trick! They could fly Alonso over here much faster if they really wanted to. They don’t need an aircraft carrier for that!’

  ‘They say they do. For Stolzfus. They have sophisticated medical facilities on board and remember, we were told that Stolzfus shouldn’t fly at all. Not yet. Well, not long distances anyway. Let’s not forget that’s why we brought him over by ship. Obviously, they received the same advice. They don’t want to take the risk.’

  Cordoba thought about that. ‘Is that what they said?’

  ‘Yes.’ Rodrigo realised it wouldn’t be easy to convince his client to agree to an extension. Fortunately, he had something left in his arsenal he believed would get him over the line. ‘We should ask Rahima to join us,’ he said.

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Because of what I’m about to tell you. I think she needs to hear it too. I promised, remember? I promised, just like you did, to do everything I can to bring A
lonso home.’

  ‘All right. Let’s get her. Where is she?’

  ‘With Rogan, I believe.’

  ‘Again? I see ...’

  Rahima joined them a few minutes later. ‘You wanted to see me?’ she said.

  ‘Raul has something to tell us,’ said Cordoba, putting a hand on Rahima’s shoulder. ‘It’s about Alonso.’

  Rahima paled. Shaken and expecting the worst, she prepared herself.

  ‘It’s nothing bad,’ said Rodrigo, noticing her distress. ‘On the contrary. What would you say if you could talk to Alonso, right now?’

  ‘Are you serious?’ stammered Rahima. ‘Where is he?’

  ‘Not that far from here, and coming closer by the moment. He’s on a US aircraft carrier on its way here.’

  Rahima looked at her husband for assurance.

  Cordoba nodded. ‘It’s true.’

  ‘They are going to hand him over?’

  ‘Looks that way.’

  ‘And I can talk to him right now?’ said Rahima, feeling dizzy. She hadn’t spoken to her son in years.

  ‘But only if we agree,’ said Rodrigo.

  ‘Agree to what?’ asked Rahima.

  ‘An extension. Change the time for a handover by twenty-four hours.’

  Rahima turned to her husband. ‘Is that a problem?’ she asked, looking troubled.

  Rodrigo kept watching his client. He had cleverly manoeuvred him into a difficult position. The decision to agree or to stand firm was now between Cordoba and his wife, and Rodrigo knew who would carry the day.

  ‘Hernando, I implore you. What’s twenty-four hours? We’ve come such a long way. We must agree!’ Rahima looked at Rodrigo. ‘Tell him! We could speak to Alonso right now?’ she asked again. ‘On the aircraft carrier, not in prison?’

  Rodrigo held up his satellite phone. ‘Yes, I have the number. I’m told they are expecting a call.’

  Rahima looked at Cordoba and burst into tears.

  Despite everything he had heard, Cordoba still felt uneasy about it all. To have an aircraft carrier bearing down on them just to hand over his son just didn’t make sense. Something was wrong. His instincts told him to be careful, but looking at his wife he realised he had no choice but to agree. ‘All right. Let’s do it,’ said Cordoba. ‘Make the call.’