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This is the second installment of a three-part story.
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Chapter 6
Its not easy making a run for it with rolling suitcases.
The Alloccos had no passports and Patrick Jr. was in the grip of heroin withdrawal.
So they fled for the embassy.
Or so they thought: Suddenly, their driver stopped the car, got out, and walked away.
Patrick Jr. realized that they had been deposited in Riquinhos neighborhood.
This is his turf, he said to his father.
We gotta run for it.
Standing there with their luggage, the Alloccos had a split second to figure out which way to go.
They had no idea where the embassy was or how theyd get there.
But it didnt matter: A dozen men appeared, AK-47s raised.
Some wore police uniforms.
Others were Riquinhos men.
What should we do?
Patrick Jr. said, his hands in the air.
Dont do anything, his father replied.
Riquinhos black Lincoln Navigator screeched onto the scene, and he emerged from the back seat.
Patrick Sr. lowered the phone but kept Josar on the line, hoping he could hear what was happening.
Riquinho walked up and snatched it.
But it wasnt the time for particulars.
Riquinho threw them against the car and demanded the money.
You venture to run!
You want to escape our justice!
Big problems for you.
The Alloccos were forced inside the SUV at gunpoint.
Riquinho took the wheel.
His bodyguard sat beside them.
Riding shotgun was a man in a police uniform, training his gun in their direction.
Now I fuck you!
Patrick Jr. is not an excitable sort, but now he felt true fear.
He told his father he was prepared to fight.
Speaking in a whisper, Patrick Sr. advised calm.
Keep a level head, he said, and well be okay.
If anything, he added, smile and laugh like nothings wrong.
Dont show that youre afraid.
Patrick Jr. was stunned at his fathers sangfroid.
And, of course, himself.
The Alloccos were brought to one police station and then another.
They were moved again, this time somewhere outside the city.
Just stray dogs and egg sellers.
Bouncing down a dirt road, they saw their destination: a concrete bunker wreathed with razor wire.
Inside the bunker, the police seemed more official.
They wore black tactical vests that said DNIC.
The DNIC officers separated the Alloccos, and Patrick Jr. had a curiously intimate conversation with his interrogator.
Two DUIs, two counts of resisting arrest, a drug charge, disorderly conduct.
The detective was by turns considerate, astonished, and annoyed.
Then what are you doing here?
And why have you helped your father commit fraud?
Patrick Jr. was reunited with his father, who was speaking with another DNIC detective.
We just want to settle this for everyone, he said and gave Patrick Sr. back his phone.
Show us the money.
Patrick Sr. said, pointing to the deposit from Riquinho and the transfer to Nas.
Money in, money out.
The detective seemed convinced but still demanded that a concert take place soon.
We want Nas to come, he said.
You must contact him.
Patrick Sr. tried again to reach Nass manager, to no avail.
He also used his phone to send a surreptitious SOS to the embassy.
The scene was interrupted when an officer arrived to escalate the interrogation.
Now you must speak with thecomandante, he said.
Thecomandantes office was air-conditioned, which was a relief.
It is not that often that I have Americans in my office, he said.
Out the window, Patrick Jr. could see military vehicles lined up in the courtyard.
I wish you could see Angola in a different light, because this is a great country, thecomandantecontinued.
These are serious allegations.
We will get justice, he said.
They faced ten years in Angolan prison, he added.
And we do not extradite to the United States.
Another hour went by.
Outside it was getting dark.
Theyd been in custody, or interrogation, for eight hours.
They had no idea where this was going.
There were still no specific charges.
They assumed theyd be soon put in a cell somewhere in this compound.
Then there was a knock at the door.
In walked David Josar and a security detail.
Josar had received Patrick Sr.s distress text and figured out where they were being held.
Are these men currently being charged?
If not, they are coming with me.
After some back and forth, the officers relented.
The next flight to New York wasnt until the following day.
The security detail called the location Eagles Nest and gave them walkie-talkies, which was also kinda neat.
The Alloccos were still rattled but felt reassured.
Patrick Sr. realized it was still New Years Eve.
The day had felt like the longest of their lives.
He called Abby: Happy New Years!Funny thing happened …His wife was not amused.
Youre going to get out of this business, she told him.
After all, they were going home.
It didnt take long for them to realize something was wrong.
The plane was boarding, but the immigration officials were on the phone with someone.
Theres a problem, the immigration officer said.
You cant leave the country.
Theyd been put on a no-fly list.
Their passports were confiscated for a second time.
Out the window, Patrick Jr. saw their flight pulling away from the gate.
The Alloccos showed up at the embassy again.
This time Josar was less sanguine.
Weve reached an impasse, he said.
Back home, a business dispute doesnt mean you get kidnapped by armed men!
Josar noted that they were not at home.
Unfortunately, he said, this is now a local police matter.
The embassy deposited the Alloccos at a new hotel called the Skyna.
Patrick Sr. was full of questions: How does this get resolved?
How long will it take?
What happens until then?
But Josar had no immediate answers.
He was a junior consular officer, and this was way above his pay grade.
We will do everything we can, he said.
But the embassy has limited options.
Leaving them in the lobby, Josar gave them his card and a list of Angolan attorneys.
He looked out the window.
The Skyna was nice, in the way that any mid-size business hotel in any city might be.
They were on the 15th floor.
The twilight view stretched out to the bay.
It was 7 p.m. on New Years Day.
The air conditioner could not be adjusted, and the room was freezing.
Patrick Sr. looked over and saw his son clutching himself in a chair.
He was at the precipice of deep withdrawal.
He also knew the darkest hour was yet to come.
But by then hed have no sense of time.
All the pharmacists politely turned him away.
There, in his mad instinct for crisis management, Patrick Sr. started working the phones.
He called Nass manager and lawyer and various intermediaries again, demanding the return of the fee.
Patrick Sr. did some quick calculating.
The problem was that Patrick Sr. had already spent $20,000 of that remainder on expenses.
Then there was the ongoing cost of the hotel.
Every day in Angola would make it harder for him to pay back Riquinho and therefore harder to leave.
How would he make up that difference?
Patrick Sr. was already bankrupt.
To get home, he needed money he didnt have.
He started with the main sum: Nass fee.
The manager responded sparsely, which worried Patrick Sr.
He didnt feel like he had much leverage.
Patrick Sr. also became his own press agent, pitching his story to local news and other outlets.
He knew there was a good headline in something like Father, Son Detained Abroad.
Meanwhile, Patrick Jr.s condition worsened.
There were hours that disappeared into delirium and slow, clear agonizing minutes.
It was barely possible.
Back in New Jersey, Abby sat in her kitchen making checklists.
The kitchen became her war room; on the wall was a chalkboard full of names and numbers.
I may not be in for a few days, she told her boss.
She talked to State Department figures in different offices.
An American concert promoter claims he and his son were abducted at gunpoint, the item began.
A bit dramatic, but Patrick Sr. needed people to pay attention.
The story went national, then international.
Patrick Sr. turned on the TV, and there they were.
In and out of consciousness, Patrick Jr. watched his face appear on the BBC and Al Jazeera.
Eventually, Patrick Jr.s withdrawal subsided.
He could think again in pieces.
And there was his father, tending to him.
Patrick Sr. had recently taken a stern approach with his son, but this was different, more tender.
You gotta eat, he said, trying to give Patrick Jr. rehydrated meatloaf from an MRE.
Finally, some spaghetti from the hotel buffet mostly stayed down.
Patrick Jr. thanked his father for nursing him to health.
Then he added: Now how are we going to get out of here?
Chapter 8
The Hart Senate Buildingin Washington, D.C., was empty.
Reed put in a call to Senator John McCains office, who referred them to OBrien.
OBrien made it a priority.
He called the Angola desk officer himself and laid out the Allocco case.
Wed like your help, OBrien said.
The response was cordial but bureaucratic.
Well look into it, the official said.
Over one of his regular breakfasts with Senator Menendez, OBrien filled him in on the case.
Good, Menendez said.
Menendez liked his staff to be aggressive, which was always helpful with State.
A few days went by.
OBrien kept at it, eventually reaching a deputy assistant secretary.
And we look forward to hearing more from you soon.
He knew that without well-placed pressure, the Alloccos case would get nowhere.
Patrick Sr. and Abby knew the feeling.
The Alloccos werent being detained, exactly; they just werent allowed to leave.
It was a complicated scenario, the official said.
Both Abby and Patrick Sr. couldnt understand why the government wouldnt intervene.
What was so complicated?
Unfortunately, the State Department officials explained, that was beyond their power.
American Citizen Services official assistance for travelers is in fact quite limited.
Run afoul of the local authorities, and you have to deal with them.
And the authorities in Angola were especially difficult to deal with.
No one knew this better than Christopher McMullen, the U.S. ambassador to Angola.
He was one of theempresarios de confianca trustworthy businessmen who were politically connected.
He had a lot of pull with dos Santos.
Whereas the U.S. Embassy did not.
This was partly because the United States had spent years backing the losing side in Angolas excruciating civil war.
And the victors had not forgotten.
Angolas chief economic partners and allies were now China and Russia.
Those cases tended to be executives at large companies with legal departments and resources behind them.
But the Alloccos were on their own.
Chapter 9
Riquinho walkedinto the Hotel Skyna on January 6, looking for Patrick Sr.
They sat down in the hotel bar.
It didnt go well.
You tried to steal my money!
With a clerk from the front desk translating, Patrick Sr. tried to explain everything again.
Maybe, he thought, this thing can be saved.
Come on, Patrick Sr. said, wereboth businessmen here.
Riquinho was not interested.
This would have been a moment to shine for Riquinho as the countrys premier music promoter.
And now you have embarrassed me, Riquinho said.
Riquinho did not like being embarrassed.
For decades, hed cultivated an image as Luandas nightlife impresario.
He also got into construction, mobile phones, food services, private security, and other businesses.
He owned a weekly newspaper.
But what Riquinho liked most was being a party mogul.
Hed put on more than a thousand events.
His first New Years Eve party was in 1990.
Three thousand people came.
The Nas show would have been 30,000.
This has damaged my reputation!
Stand strong, brother, he told Patrick Sr. Riquinho still owes me money.
Tell him to pay up!)
At the bar, Riquinho made it clear that he did not appreciate Patricks press efforts.
You attacked me in TMZ?
Why did you do that?
I didnt attack you.
I had to get your money back from Nas, Patrick Sr. said.
And by the way, it worked!
He explained hed just gotten word that Nass manager had agreed to send back the money.
Riquinho listened, arms folded.
Even with the performance fees returned, he was short $30,000.
Ill have most of the money soon, Patrick Sr. said.
Nao ha acordo, Riquinho replied.
Patrick waited for the translation.
Riquinhos voice grew louder.
Youll have all of it back, Riquinho said.
Or youre never going to leave Angola.
He stood up and walked away.
Patrick Sr. wasat a loss.
Every step seemed to take them backward.
This subjected them to potential criminal charges.
And yet they had not been charged.
Instead, they were in a kind of legal limbo.
Lay low, the consular chief told Patrick Sr.
Were working on it.
At one point, the embassy suggested it might be cheaper to find an apartment.
Patrick Sr. wondered about more drastic measures.
Couldnt be more than, what, a hundred yards to one of those vessels?
He and Patrick Jr. could probably swim that.
He had a contact at Maersk; maybe something could be arranged?
But Patrick Jr. started fixating on escape.
Maybe they could rent a boat and head into international waters.
Or they could drive to Kinshasa.
Or somehow find a small airplane and fly to Namibia.
Patrick Sr. looked at aviation maps, figuring he could fly low along the coast.
Then another idea came his way.
(This was not the website of the actual Navy SEALs.)
He told Patrick Sr. hed come up with a plan to get them out clean.
Patrick Sr. decided that this was a great idea.
Chapter 10
The Alloccos walkedout of the hotel around noon.
It was a rare overcast day.
Patrick Jr. still felt rough, but his father had pulled him out of the room for this excursion.
They both needed to be there, he said.
They walked around the block, making a small circuit.
Patrick Jr. told his father this was fucking crazy.
Hours later, Rob called Patrick Jr. from his house in Virginia Beach.
The Colonels team had received pictures of them outside their hotel.
Proof of life had been verified, Rob said.
The mission would proceed.
The Colonel knew Angola well and had contacts inside local military intelligence.
You will never get the whole truth, but you want to get as close as possible.
The Colonels agents were able to confirm the basics of the Alloccos situation.
It was reliable, he told Rob.
Then he assessed the capabilities of Riquinho, the police, and other authorities to calculate the operational risk.
Then the Colonel provided two options: operations by air and by ground.
The Colonel estimated the chance of success at 80 percent.
Rob told Patrick Sr. it was the better option.
And whats the chance of success for the ground operation?
Not as good, Rob said.
Sounds like its the first option, Patrick Sr. said.
Post-withdrawal, he was now lucid and had lots of questions.What if the police chase us?
Or we get caught at the airport?
These arent a bunch of yahoos, Patrick Sr. said.
They had contingency plans in place for scenarios of modified risk.
We are dealing with highly sophisticated warriors, Patrick Sr. told his son.
The first step, Rob told them, was to make everything seem unchanged while the details were arranged.
So Patrick Sr. went about his usual business.
Rob instructed the Alloccos to leave the hotel for daily walks along the same route.
Patrick Jr. was still skeptical but went along to humor his father.
On one of those outings, Rob said, you will be greeted by men in fatigues.
On January 9, everything was in place.
Today is the day, Rob told the Alloccos.
The Colonel had the plane on the apron.
Rob told the Alloccos to have breakfast on the patio, as always.
Take the usual phone calls.
Take the light gear on a walk every two hours.
We will be on a communications blackout, he said, in case your electronics are being monitored.
Outside the hotel, Patrick Jr. carried his backpack: just some clothes and his iPod.
Down to that morning, Patrick Jr. still thought this was a dumb idea.
But now he wondered:Maybe they really are coming to get us?
Patrick Sr. was full of adrenaline, trying to stay calm.
One outing and nothing happened.
They didnt know when exactly the rendezvous would take place.
Then another outing, uneventful.
Now that Patrick Jr.s hopes were raised, he was getting worried: Dad, where are they?
This was when the problem arose.
This meant that to spirit them out of the country might technically be human trafficking.
These were big surprises for a covert mission on the verge of wheels up.
The entire risk assessment, as the Colonel put it, was different.
The chance of mission success has changed, the Colonel told Rob.
How should we proceed?
Unaware of the glitch, the Alloccos kept at their strolling routine every two hours.
Eventually, it got dark.
And then it got late.
Patrick Jr. said he was going to bed.
Were never getting out of here, he mumbled from under the covers.
Patrick Sr. looked crestfallen.
He lay down but couldnt sleep.
Maybe they should do their rounds again, he thought.
At 4 a.m., Rob called.
Ive got bad news, he said.
The operation has been called off.
He explained what the Colonel had learned.
The whole thing is too hot, he said.
Patrick Sr. asked if they could still pull it off.
Your case has risen high in the Angolan government, he said.
Rob ended the call with a word of advice: You should change hotels.
The Colonels intel confirmed that Riquinho had spies.
Youre too exposed where you are, Rob warned.
And this may take a while.
