Lockhart nodded and stepped forward into the space between the rapper and Colonel Firestone, and more handshaking ensued. He wore a diamond stud in his left ear and his nearly shoulder-length hair had been coiffed into glistening black ringlets. The guy was swimming in a pool of cologne. He didn’t seem the Special Forces type to me, retired or otherwise.
‘Can’t wait to hear the concert,’ he said.
‘Pleasure to entertain y’all,’ Twenny Fo replied.
Pulling Travis aside, I said, ‘I need to speak with someone about security.’
‘Yes of course,’ he said. ‘They gave me his name already — Holt. I’ll see if I can track him down.’
Just then, the people from the second French helicopter ran into the hangar, with a squad of enlisted soldiers holding ponchos over their heads. Biruta, Firestone, and the other officials seemed to forget about Twenny Fo completely and craned their necks to get a better view of the new arrivals.
‘Colonel,’ said Travis, smiling broadly, ‘come and meet America’s hottest female performer.’
‘Love to,’ the colonel replied, licking his lips.
‘Look at us,’ Leila said to Ayesha and Shaquand, as she brushed a few drops of water off her thigh with the flat of her hand. ‘I mean, just look at us!’
She didn’t need to say it twice because that’s what every male in the hangar was doing. Biruta was acting as though he’d just been given a shot of morphine; he was staring at probably the most beautiful creature he’d ever seen in his life. Drooling was a real possibility.
Ayesha held up a small mirror so that Leila could examine her makeup disaster zone.
‘Leila,’ said Travis, approaching her, ‘how was your flight?’
‘Appalling. The plane leaked.’
‘Oh, I’m sorry.’ Realizing that it wasn’t a particularly good idea to continue down this path, Travis changed the subject. ‘The commander of the camp would like to meet you.’
‘Can’t it wait? Is there a dressing room I can use?’
‘I’m sure there is, but you look amazing. A couple of quick introductions, and then you can start rehearsing.’
The star sighed heavily, then turned away from Travis and said, ‘Shaq, honey, see if you can’t find me a bottle of Evian?’
Shaquand scoped the hangar, I guessed for a vending machine. I didn’t like her chances.
Colonel Firestone was standing to one side, waiting patiently beside Biruta, Ntahobali, Lockhart, and their assistants.
When Leila turned back, it was as if a new personality had invaded her being. A warm smile suffused her features, and she radiated light.
‘Gentlemen,’ she said, holding out her hand, which Firestone eagerly took. ‘I can’t tell you how excited I am to have been given the honor to come here and do my patriotic duty.’
I had to smile. Leila played the room like a hit single.
Firestone more or less repeated the introductions I’d already heard, although with considerably more flawning.
Travis extracted himself from the center of the male vortex swirling around her and brought me one of Firestone’s junior officers.
‘This is Alex,’ said the colonel. ‘Holt’ was stamped on his nametag. He was US Army and black, with the build of a quarterback and sharp, intelligent eyes.
‘Name’s Vin,’ I said, completing the introductions. ‘Tell me about the natives. Any chance that a suicide bomber might run into the accommodations and rearrange the furniture with C4?’
He read my name, saw the OSI unit badges, and something clicked. ‘Oh, now I know who you are. You’re that Vin Cooper. Kabul, right? The whole skull thing. What you did was pretty awesome.’
I didn’t know where to look.
‘Don’t worry, you’re among friends here — on both sides of the wire. And I’ve put a ten-man security detail at your disposal. Oversee them personally if you like, but if I were you, I’d relax and enjoy some down time.’
‘Can I please have everyone’s attention?’ said Travis, raising his voice over the crowd. ‘I need to see the stage managers, get you people orientated. Colonel Firestone has given us the mess hall, a place for you to rehearse. Leila, Twenny Fo — whenever you’re ready, I’ll take you over there.’
‘So what’s she really like?’ Holt asked, his eyes feasting on the celebrity.
‘Interesting.’
Holt continued staring at her for another moment and then snapped out of it. ‘I’ll get the team to rendezvous with you over at the mess,’ he said.
‘Thanks.’ I scanned the area, checking on everyone’s whereabouts. All except one present and accounted for.
‘You see Peanut anywhere?’ I asked Rutherford.
He gestured over his shoulder. The guy was covered in grease and kerosene, holding up parts of the Mi-8 as if he’d struck gold.
The camp had already set up its own sound system in the mess hall — a big prefab box built to feed two thousand men at a time, with movable seating and a cafeteria at one end — and now Twenny Fo’s recorded backing tracks were rattling the windows. The room was huge and plain, beige tiles on the floor and the walls unadorned but for awards extolling the military’s equivalent of employee-of-the-month — photos of smiling personnel who’d served the most meals or washed the most pots.
Major Holt’s security detail arrived as Leila and Twenny Fo were rehearsing, ten armed men to guard the only two doors in and out. That was a lot of security. Nevertheless, one of us still had to chaperone the principals — rules.
Cassidy, Rutherford, West, and Ryder stood just outside the mess. Over on the other side of the open quadrangle, we could see some US Army engineers putting the finishing touches on a stage constructed from scaffolding.
‘Duke, I nominate you to babysit our principals,’ I said. ‘You okay with that?’ I was doing him a favor. The guy hadn’t been able to take his eyes off Ayesha.
‘Sure can do,’ he said. ‘Where’re you fellas gonna be at?’
‘Taking in the sights.’
‘Okay — later,’ he said, almost skipping back inside.
Cassidy, West, Rutherford and I went off to nose around. None of us was even aware that the US had a military base down here, and we wanted to see what mischief the Pentagon was up to.
‘So which ones are the advisors?’ West motioned toward half a dozen soldiers cutting across our path. Beyond them, three platoon-sized squares of men were out double-timing it between truck convoys crawling down a muddy access road.
‘Have you noticed that, aside from Firestone, all of our people here are black?’ observed Cassidy.
‘Hiding in plain sight,’ I said.
‘How do you know which ones are the Americans?’ asked Rutherford, the Brit.
‘Look for the roll,’ West said.
‘What roll?’ inquired Cassidy. Then he stopped, annoyed. ‘Do I have a roll, motherfucker?’
‘Yeah, you do,’ Rutherford insisted. ‘You know, the stylish, fluid movement that suggests a certain level of cool. The slight push off your left foot, followed by the telltale thrust of your right shoulder. I’m an Anglo. If I tried to do something like that, I’d look like I was having some kind of spasm.’
A couple of guys strolled past with rhythm in their step.
West nodded at them. ‘The roll. For damn sure, made in the USA.’
Cassidy grunted. ‘How many advisors are we supposed to have here, anyway?’
‘I was told a thousand,’ I said.
The base was big enough to house maybe five thousand men, though I couldn’t say for sure how many of them were actually on post. The place felt like a busy frontier fort gearing up for a mid-level conflict just over the horizon.
A truck stopped at one of the large pre-fab boxes with two forklifts parked outside suggesting that it might be Supply. The Kornfak & Greene guy, Beau Lockhart, hopped out of the truck’s passenger side and stood at the open door, discussing something with the driver.