One Mile Under (18 page)

“Yes.”

“Well, these are the guys who created and implemented that strategy. It was their job to influence not only the opposition, but the local populations as well. They did it with leaflets and disinformation, then ratcheted it up to spreading cash around, building hospitals, things like that. Performing lifesaving medical operations on kids. Anything that would win over the locals and paint a positive image of the United States. And underscore atrocities committed by the Taliban.”

“Propaganda, basically,” Hauck said.

“Propaganda, yes, in regards to information and branding. That’s apparently what’s referred to as ‘white’ PsyOps. The standard, informational stuff. Then there’s what’s known as gray. That when they start to set things up themselves, messages that they want promulgated widely. I was told an example of that was the toppling of Saddam Hussein’s statue in that square in Baghdad during the early days of the war. It was always seen to have been a spontaneous event, but now it turns out it was fully staged and choreographed by the PsyOps people. Cameras and all.”

“I didn’t realize that,” Hauck said. His gaze was caught by a sleek black SUV that pulled up across the street, its windows tinted, in contrast to the dusty Ford 150s and beat-up GMC Yukons that were everywhere else in town. “I thought that was all legit.”

“I guess that was the point. But there’s a whole other aspect to this PsyOps thing as well. The part that isn’t in the brochure. The dirty-business side. As in bribing and paying off key tribal leaders to switch sides. And going in and kidnapping and eliminating any bad actors who quite didn’t see it their way. One night someone goes to bed in his hut with his family, someone stirring up the townsfolk about maybe drone strikes or innocent people being killed. Come morning, there’s only an empty blanket and a teapot in the tent where he used to be. Or the whole family’s found dead in their beds and no one’s heard a peep.”

“I figure that’s what they call black PsyOps,” Hauck volunteered.

“You got it. The 301st Airborne was the army’s PsyOps division in Iraq … And you asked about Alpha Unit …”

“Let me guess. Alpha Unit was the part of it that handled the black kind of stuff. The dirty work.”

“I guarantee no one goes around talking about it,” Brooke said. “But bingo.”

Sonovabitch …
“Crisis management solutions to technical and environmental problems …” These bastards did all the black-stuff work. In Iraq and here. McKay. Robertson. Bribing local leaders. Killing and kidnapping the opposition.

Hauck leaned back against the window.
What the hell would they be up to here?

“That it?”

“You asked me about how it had morphed into this consulting company in the energy field. The CEO is a James Stengel. Formerly Army Colonel James Stengel, of the 301st. Senior commanding officer of … I bet you can fill in the blank?”

“Alpha Unit.”

“Much of the senior management seems to be composed of people who were part of the team in Iraq and Afghanistan. And as I think you already know, they seem to have found a niche in the energy business now.”

Softening the opposition. Buying off the local populations. The dirty work, Hauck reflected.
Like geology …
McKay had said with kind of a wry grin.
Just not in a lab.

“You got a client list for them?” Hauck asked.

“Let me look. I’m on their website now.”

Hauck checked out the black SUV again. The front passenger window had cracked a bit. He could almost hear the camera clicking away.

“Okay I’m there …”

“Who’s at the top?”

“Let me see … Nebula Exploration and Gas. They’re one of the big ones. They’re a drilling and site management firm up in the Bakken Field in North Dakota. I only know that because my sister lives up there.”

“Who’s next?”

“Dillard Oil. You know them?”

“No. But next …”

“Next is a mining and exploration company out of Denver. It’s called Resurgent Mining and Mineral.”

“Yeah,” Hauck said, glancing at the black SUV up the street, “they’re all over the place here.”

“You want me to find anything on them?” Brooke volunteered.

“Not sure I’ll need that.” He looked at the car. “I think they already found me. However, there is one more thing, Brooke. There was a balloon crash in Aspen three days ago. Five people killed. There’s an investigative team there looking at it. I want you to have one of our people check in on how it’s progressing …”

“Progressing?”

“If they found anything suspicious in the wreckage.”

“You sound like you’re getting in pretty deep out there, Ty.”

“Tell Tom I haven’t forgotten about him. And thanks, Brooke. I’ll be in touch again.”

He hung up and looked back up the street, but the black SUV had moved on.

Back inside, Hauck sat back down at the table. Dani stopped texting and put down her phone. “Who was that?”

“My office.”

“Okay.” She waited. “
And …
”

“And I don’t want you playing detective anymore, Dani. You said it yourself, when you heard what happened to me on the road. Things are heating up.”

“That’s not fair, Uncle Ty. I can take care of myself.”

“The truth is,” he said, looking at her with concern, “it would make me feel a lot more comfortable if you could head back home.”

“Home?”

“You said a few friends came up for the funeral. Any chance you can drive back with them?”

“And then what about you?”

“I’ll be along soon. In a couple of days. When I see what’s happening.”

“You can’t just shut me out of this, Uncle Ty. I’m the one who brought it to you.”

“Yeah, and look where it landed you. In jail.”

“You’re still gonna need me, if you’re intending to go back to Trey’s father. And besides, my friends already went back. They left a couple of hours ago.”

“Oh.” Hauck gritted his teeth, disappointed. “Then I want you to stay at the motel and hang out on your iPhone tomorrow. I’ve got some business to attend to.”

“What kind of business?”

“I’d rather not share it, Dani.”

“Why are you suddenly shutting me out, Uncle Ty? What’s changed?”

“What’s changed is that there’s some dirty business going on here, Dani, and it’s not just the oil. RMM is using military-trained PsyOps teams—those are people who are trained to twist behavior, interrogate bad guys, intimidate the local populations in Iraq and Afghanistan. Of which the Alpha Group is a key player.”

“Iraq and Afghanistan?” She screwed up her brow. “What would they be doing here?”

“I don’t know.”

“You think Trey was killed now, don’t you, Uncle Ty?”

Hauck edged toward her. “You mind keeping your voice down just a bit?”

“But you
do
…!” She dropped it a level, but the wide-eyed look on her face reflected her shock as what he just said sank in.

He nodded. “I’m starting to think that’s a possibility. Yes.”

“And you think it was this guy Robertson who did it? Right?”

He nodded again. “He was part of a black ops unit of Alpha back in Iraq …”

She sat back, and blinked. “I was right. Oh my God. I almost didn’t really want to hear this. So what are we going to do?”

“What are
we
going to do …? You’re going to watch TV or listen to your iPhone and chomp down room service.”

“They don’t have room service where we’re staying, Uncle Ty.”

“Then we’ll switch to somewhere that does. Either way, you’re staying put, Danielle. That’s our deal.”

“You’re starting to sound like Wade now …” She sat back, narrowing her eyes, letting it all sink in. Then she looked back at him. “You’re going to RMM.”

He didn’t answer.

“You are, though. You’re going to just walk in there? Like,
Here I am?
With what you now know?”

“The truth is, we really don’t know anything. Other than these people are here and something murky is going on. Besides, RMM’s a huge energy conglomerate. They won’t want to make a scene. Anyway, that’s kind of what I do.”

“What do you have, a death wish or something?” She stared at him.

“It’s sort of like navigating rapids,” he said with a widening grin, “but on land.”

“That’s really funny, Uncle Ty,” she said, sitting back. She clenched her fingers into a fist and tapped it against the table several times as if in disbelief. “I can’t believe Trey was actually murdered. I know I said it from the start, but now that things are coming out, I can’t believe it’s real. So we’re staying?” She turned to him.

“Yeah, we’re staying.” Hauck nodded. He took her fist in his hand and squeezed. “One more day.”

Resurgent Mining and Mineral was in a modern, redbrick office building on the outskirts of Greeley, close to the government buildings and the courthouse.

It was a huge oil and gas exploration company, based in Denver. Hauck looked it up the night before. It did upwards of six billion in sales in the past year and was listed on the New York Stock Exchange. It operated everything from coal to mines to hundreds of oil and gas wells spread over the central mountain states. It also was a partner in various pipeline projects in Canada.

Hauck parked in the lot and went in through sliding-glass doors. The lobby was a two-story atrium with oversize photographs of the company’s interests. He went up to the woman at the curved reception desk and asked to speak to Guy Stafford, who was listed on the RMM website as the general manager of the Wattenberg region.

“I’m sorry, but Mr. Stafford is in Denver today. Did you have an appointment?’

“No.” Hauck slid across his card. “I’m a partner in a global security firm back east. I was out here on other business and was hoping to speak with someone about what we do.”

“Let me see if Mr. Moss is available. He’s our regional VP of operations. I think this might fall under him. You can wait over there.”

Unlike Alpha, with its cramped waiting area and brochures, Resurgent had a plush, nicely decorated section with a watercolor over the couch, and its annual report displayed prominently on the coffee table. A flat-screen monitor was on the wall, with a video showcasing the company’s activities. Hauck watched for a few minutes, an actor he recognized going through all the precautions the company took in the drilling of its wells, the redundant layers of steel casings the well hole was encased in to protect the surrounding land, and the partnerships it created with the local communities.

“
At RMM,”
the actor said, “
we like to think of ourselves as a tenant in the local community, one that takes pride in it, and leaves it in even better condition than when we arrived …
”

Hence the fancy football field and all the government buildings, Hauck said to himself.

“Mr. Hauck.” The receptionist stepped over to him. “Mr. Moss can see you now. Celia will take you back …” She walked him over to another nicely dressed woman, who brought him up a wide staircase and then down a corridor lit by a long glass picture window with a view of the far-off Rockies. “You’re lucky. Mr. Moss just freed up for a few minutes. It’s rare for him to see anyone without an appointment.” Was there anything she could get for him? she asked.
Coffee? A soda?

“Thank you,” Hauck said, walking down the long corridor. “I’m fine.”

She dropped him off at a spacious office with wide windows and the same expansive view. “Right in here …”

A middle-aged man in a shirt and tie, the sleeves rolled up, a bit round in the belly, stepped up from behind his desk. “Thanks, Celia. Wendell Moss,” he said, introducing himself with a firm handshake. The kind of reassuring, midwestern demeanor you might expect from someone in a pilot’s uniform stepping out of an airline cockpit.

“Ty Hauck.”

“Yes, I know who you are. We don’t exactly get many celebrities out this way. Especially in our neck of the woods. We once brought in a couple of the Denver Broncos and took them out on-site, kind of a motivational thing. Signed a bunch of autographs for the guys …”

“Well, I’m not sure any of them would exactly treasure mine,” Hauck joked, suspecting that word traveled quickly between Alpha and RMM, and that the conversation about his visit there with McKay had already been had. “Nice of you to carve out a couple of minutes …”

“Not a problem. So what brings you out our way? Surely there’s not much going on here for a man such as you.”

“Your secretary gave you my card?”

“Have it right here. Talon. Security outfit. I’m sure I’ve heard of it.”

“We’re a large, international firm, with interests in several sectors of the security business. Digital protection. Foreign countries. One of the prospective firms we were looking into is called the Alpha Group. You know them?”

“Alpha …” Moss motioned him over to a small, round conference table. “They handle some advance marketing and technical matters for us. The kinds of things that need some massaging long before the first drill bit goes in the ground.”

“Can you tell me exactly what you mean?”

“Oh, site planning and community dynamics. Boring stuff.” Moss waved. “I’m sure they’d be happy to tell you themselves.”

“Actually I already visited there,” Hauck said, certain that Moss already knew. “And they were kind of vague. I think they used the phrase ‘It’s like geology, just not in a lab …’”

“Yes.” He grinned. “I’ve heard that before myself. Let’s just say, they don’t tell us where the oil is, just smooth over the pesky, administrative details of getting us to it. From that point on is where we come in.”

On his credenza Moss had several photos. A pretty, blond wife. A boy and a girl. Playing soccer, biking. A few framed awards and citations hung on the wall.

“Alpha has its roots in the military, doesn’t it?” Hauck volunteered.

Moss looked at him. “Yes. I think it does actually.”

“So how does a U.S. Army PsyOps team solve technical problems for a huge oil and gas company like yours?”

The oilman smiled, the slightest shifting in his gaze. “Well, the short answer to your first question is, there are veterans all over this industry. In RMM as well. Much of what we do involves very challenging and sensitive work, both technically and environmentally, and that kind of training comes in handy.”