Sinclair paused and stared at Insolers, as if waiting for the CIA operative to say something or ask another question. When the man with the rodent features and medicinal smell remained silent, eyes cast down as he sipped his sake, Sinclair continued, "As a result of my education, I was made an officer, and in the course of events I was sent to Vietnam." He paused, smiled distantly, as if at some private joke. "While I was over there, I began to acquire somewhat of a reputation as an expert interrogator of enemy prisoners. Actually, I owed my skills to a rather unusual technique taught to me by Master Bai-not the plant extract. I'm thinking of trying it out on junior. I think he'll be surprised.
"During my third tour of duty a rather crude attempt was made to recruit me for an insane operation called Cooked Goose, which called for the assassination by U.S. Army personnel of selected civilians in the United States. It was thoroughly crazy, and, in my opinion, traitorous. It was only years later, in Seattle, that I learned I'd been set up by my old friend Master Bai, who was working as a consultant to the CIA, of all things. At the time the only thing I knew was that it was my duty as an army officer to put a stop to Cooked Goose, by any means necessary. I couldn't do that by remaining in that theater. As Master Bai had foreseen, by refusing the assignment, I had become a marked man because of my knowledge of Cooked Goose. If I stayed I would be killed, and so I deserted. Five Army Rangers, Cooked Goose operatives, were sent after me, and I had no choice but to kill them."
Without looking up from the table, Insolers said quietly, "You have documentation on Cooked Goose, don't you?"
"I did have."
"Did have?"
"I managed to extract certain papers from some files before I left, my thinking being that I might need them as proof in order to stop Cooked Goose. As it turned out, the mere fact that I was on the loose with knowledge of the operation in my head caused the planners to abort it. I destroyed the papers when the war ended."
"Why? The CIA has never stopped pursuing you. You could have released the documents and blown a big hole in the side of the whole agency. Why didn't you?"
Sinclair seemed genuinely surprised at the question. "My problem was never with the CIA, Duane, only certain men in it. I didn't want to do anything to damage my country more than it had already been damaged by that war. Vietnam was an aberration, and Operation Cooked Goose was an aberration within an aberration. Release of information about Cooked Goose could have caused irreparable damage, further degrading and humiliating the United States in the eyes of the world and in the eyes of many of its own people. Since I had just gone to considerable trouble, and undergone some personal sacrifice, by deserting and being branded a traitor in order to serve my country by stopping the damn project because it was so abominable, why would I then turn around and cancel out all my efforts by publicizing something that never happened?"
"Because the sons-of-bitches were trying to kill you."
"Without much success, as you see. In my eyes, they were the traitors and were manipulated by Master Bai. I was not about to serve the interests of Master Bai. After the war, the country was going through an agonizing process of redefining itself. I had done my duty, as I saw it, in order to serve my country, and I couldn't see how the public learning of a plot hatched by some of its purported leaders to kill U.S. citizens in order to manipulate public opinion could possibly help the healing process."
For the first time since we had sat down at the table, Duane Insolers looked directly at the man whose life had become so inextricably, and ambiguously, bound up with his own. "Jesus Christ, Sinclair. You really are a goddamn patriot."
"And you're a fool, Duane," Sinclair replied easily, without rancor. "I don't think you quite understand. In the end, I did not release the materials I had, or tell what I knew, because the resulting disruption, bitterness, recriminations, and internal dissent would have pleased, and served the interests of, the group whose leader had concocted the plan in the first place-Black Flame. They have always been my real enemies, and I saw no reason to amuse them at the expense of the United States."
"I don't think the CIA would be very impressed with your explanation, Sinclair, and I know they wouldn't believe you've destroyed the Cooked Goose documents. They believe you're hanging on to them to use to bargain for your freedom if and when you're ever caught."
"Chant doesn't care what the CIA believes, Duane," Jan said sharply. "And he doesn't have to explain himself to them or to you. You talk like somebody who's hunting him."
There was a strained silence. Finally, Veil said, "I'd very much like to hear the rest of it, Sinclair."
The man sitting at the head of the table thought about it. Then he looked at Jan, smiled, threw back his head, and laughed. It was a deep, rich, pleasing sound. "The rest of it? Well, the bottom line was that I was suddenly unemployed, and my future job prospects looked rather grim. I was a military deserter, hunted by CIA assassins, as well as far more dangerous assassins from Black Flame. I decided it was time for a career change. I'd had superb training as both a ninja warrior and a military officer, but what was I going to do with it? I suppose I could have found work as a mercenary, but I was pretty certain I wouldn't much care for the kinds of assignments I'd be offered, and that line of work could leave me dangerously exposed to both Black Flame and the CIA. So I decided to go into business for myself as a kind of self-employed mercenary, selecting my own targets. I set up a one-man shop."
Harper said, "More like a one-man army."
Sinclair smiled at Harper, shrugged. "Any man's effectiveness is enhanced by good training and careful planning. The reputation for violence grew out of the nature of the business I'd gone into; I was dealing, for the most part, with extremely violent opponents, and extremely violent means had to be used in order to get their attention. It was good business practice. Also, this reputation for ruthlessness and violence, which I wanted, was helped along by the various outfits that were hunting me, because it also served their purposes. I wanted my targets to fear me, because it made them easier to manipulate, and the men hunting me found it convenient to have me portrayed in the media as a mad-dog killer. But, despite all that, I've still managed to make a few friends, like Duane here, along the way. And, perhaps, the other people at this table."
"I'm flattered that you should think of me as a friend, Sinclair," Insolers said in a somewhat absent tone.
Sinclair nodded in Insolers' direction, turned back to Veil. "During the course of an operation in Seattle, I learned that Black Flame was still very actively hunting me. That served to put me even more on my guard in the following years."
I asked, "When you mounted your operation against Neuberger, did you know that Cornucopia was a Black Flame front?"
"No," Sinclair replied, his tone suddenly revealing a trace of regret, and perhaps bitterness. "If I had, I never would have involved a friend of mine from Interpol by the name of Bo Wahlstrom. At the time, I knew only that Cornucopia laundered money for some big international crime organization, which could have been one of many; it was information I'd picked up as a result of something else I was doing. Ten million dollars, incidentally, was the approximate amount of that week's criminal proceeds, with the rest legitimate funds earmarked for various legitimate projects, so it was ten million I took. After I'd gotten what I wanted, I turned the information and documents I'd obtained over to Bo, as I'd done in similar situations over the years, for appropriate action by Interpol."