RAAF Captain Philip Ramer had read everything he could find online. He’d seen the video of Beatty’s trailer. As he talked, I opened a computer file with a headshot of Ramer in uniform, stocky, solid chest, firm chin, straight-ahead look.
“I knew some of the pilots killed in the bombing. They were all good guys, and smart. They’re playing up the sleeper cell bit here, putting Jeremy in it. They don’t know him. He’d be the last one to help AQAP or the other bastards. Can’t believe you’re even looking at him.”
“He’s not a suspect.”
“You wouldn’t know, mate.”
“You wouldn’t know it here either.”
Ramer was quiet, yet had to know what I wanted. He threw it back at me.
“You called me. I’m calling you back.”
“I called about the Hakim Salter drone strike.”
“The American schoolteacher, yeah?”
“That’s right.”
“He got taken out with some Taliban.”
“Was it just bad luck for Salter?”
“I’m not allowed to talk about it.”
“You can talk to an FBI agent.”
“My commanding officer wouldn’t agree.”
“Give me his number and I’ll call him. I’m not reporting this conversation to anyone.”
“Recording it though, yeah?”
“I am, but you’re talking to someone who knows Jeremy personally.”
Ramer considered that a moment, then said, “Wouldn’t much matter anyway, the truth is gone on that one.”
“What do you remember?”
“If I talk to you, where else does it go?”
“Depends on what you have to say.”
“If it shows up in Yank media that I don’t agree with the official version, then I’m in a mess here.”
“That won’t happen. I can promise that.”
“Can you now?”
“It stays inside the Bureau.”
“I’ll tell you more if you keep my name out of it.”
“I can make you an unnamed source.”
“All right, mate, I’ll go with that. You’re giving me your word?”
“Yes.”
“What happened is, we were ready to launch a missile on the Taliban targets and they had us wait. The Taliban were there and we circled and circled. Jeremy is asking but getting no answers back about the wait, and then out comes the schoolteacher and the order comes to launch. Jeremy is at them, saying he’s looking at the American lad who teaches. The order comes again. So you just do it. You don’t think on it too hard. It’s not yours to identify the target when it’s the CIA sitting on your shoulder looking down with you. You fly the bird. But they knew what they were doing. They waited for the Salter fellow to come back out. Whatever they say, there was no question about it then. Straight up, we took him out.”
“Did Jeremy say anything that day?”
“He said a lot. Surprised his mates and the captain. He was stone-cold calm otherwise, but not that day. He said it there and plenty loud, ‘I didn’t sign up to kill Americans.’ Said it and walked out. That was the start of things going wrong for him.”
“There was an investigation. You were questioned. I’ve read your transcript. It doesn’t have any of this in it.”
“They told me it all happened a different way, and Jeremy and I misunderstood. They put it to me and gave me a choice.” His voice quieted. “I went the coward’s way. It was to keep my career, you know?”
“I know the feeling.”
“I’m not proud of it.”
“Did they really ship you home the next day?”
“Nothing like that. Orders were to cooperate with the Yanks and talk to no one except the questioners. What they did was send me home to where I was living in Las Vegas. I was told to have no contact of any kind with Jeremy. We didn’t talk again until after he was discharged. I told him what I did and he understood. We talked a bit. He needed to know what I remembered. He was questioning himself until I said I remembered it the same way.”
I got an address on him and more contact numbers and sat for a few minutes at my desk before moving on. I called the pilot who flew the FBI Cessna.
“What’s up, Grale?”
“I need a ride.”
“They’re cracking down on us. You’ll need a good reason.”
“I’ve got one.”
“Where do you want to go?”
“Borrego Springs.”
“When?”
“Now.”
“Seriously?”
“Yeah.”
“Okay, well, we did some minor repairs yesterday, and I’m thinking I need to take a test flight. Meet me at the field in an hour.”
“See you there.”
39
July 10th, midafternoon
Beatty met the guy who had called about his motorcycle and sold it to him for $17,000 cash in a Target parking lot. Then he bought a good little gas stove, a sleeping bag, and a box of ammunition and replaced the camping gear the FBI had impounded. He bought a cooler and ice and some fresh food, four one-gallon jugs of water, and enough MREs to last for a while. He gassed the pickup, checked the tires and oil, and stopped at a pharmacy for another list of things before buying more groceries, ice, and water. He bought three more throwaway phones and packed everything into the king cab of his pickup, and then called Grale to say he’d get another bike someday and he’d be staying a few days with Laura. He also talked to Bahn, Eddie threatening to go to the FBI.