my phone rings at 4:30 in the morning. I’m back in the US and groggily pick up. “I’m sorry to wake you up at this hour, sir, but the GSU[Garrison Support Unit] had me surrounded all night,” McAfee says in a breathless rush. He explains that he’s staying at Captain Morgan’s Retreat, a resort on Ambergris Caye, and he decided to go for a walk at dusk. As he strolled along the beach, he heard the sound of approaching gas-powered golf carts. “You can tell the GSU vehicles because they have this low roar,” he says, a hint of panic creeping into his voice. “I think they put special mufflers on them to scare people.”
He dashed onto the porch of a nearby hotel room and hid behind the bushes. Then he heard someone cough on the balcony above him. “As soon as I heard that, my heart sank,” he says. “They were fucking everywhere.”
McAfee spends the next 25 minutes describing to me how the GSU silently surrounded him in the darkness. “Two of them were less than 3 feet away,” he says “They stood unmoving. No one said a word all night long. They just surround you and stand still. Think about it. It’s freaky shit, sir.”
He sat there all night, he tells me, terrified that the shadowy figures he was seeing would kill him if he moved. Around 4 o’clock in the morning, he says, they retreated quietly and disappeared.
I suggest he get some rest. He sounds frantic and scared.
“They’re coming back,” he says suddenly. “This is too fucking much. I’m hanging up. I’m going.”
The line goes dead.
A week later, McAfee calls me from the Belizean-Mexican border. He tells me he’s had enough of Belize. A day ago, he was walking down the beach on Ambergris Caye when several GSU “frogmen” walked out of the water. Later, he says, a troop of GSU officers crowded into his room but didn’t say or do anything. “I have just escaped from hell,” he says.
Six days pass, and McAfee calls again. “Good morning, John,” I say.
“Good evening, I think it is,” McAfee says.
I explain that it’s 9:41 am.
“You’re kidding me,” he says. “I haven’t slept for a couple nights. It felt like evening to me.”
“What’s going on?” I ask.
“I am back from Mexico, thank God,” he says, explaining that he was robbed and beaten outside of Cancun. Now he’s on Ambergris Caye. “Here it’s clear that they’re not going to harm me, they’re just trying to scare me,” he says. “They have to up the ante if they’re going to continue scaring me.”
On Friday, November 9, 2012, I receive an email from McAfee telling me that “a contingent of black-suited thugs” disembarked on the dock next to his property at 10:30 pm. The men dispersed on the beach. “A half hour later all of my dogs had been poisoned,” he writes. “Mellow, Lucky, Dipsy, and Guerrero have already died. I had to call Amy and tell her about Mellow. She is hysterical.”