Chapter Ten
Although the U.S. government says the hunt is still on, the CIA recently closed its Bin Laden unit.
– Morning Edition, National Public Radio, July 3 2006, as reported by Mary Louise Kelly
Camp Tornado Point, Anbar Province
“Kill Hunter Stone?” Camille laughed. “I don’t know who you’re talking about. Who’s Hunter Stone?” Camille wasn’t sure how deep the Agency had nosed around into her relationship with Hunter. Out of fear for each other’s safety, they each had gone to extreme efforts to protect their privacy, but they apparently hadn’t gone far enough.
“Come on, Stella.”
“Camille Black, please.”
“We’ve known each other too long to fuck around with games like this. And quit hogging those M &Ms.”
“Help yourself, but you’ve got to be kidding if you think I’m going to eliminate Hunter for you.” She held out the bag while he fished out a handful. “What the hell did he do?”
“He’s put this Agency in a very difficult position, but I think the same can be said about what he’s done to you.”
“I try to stay out of CIA politics, especially since 9/11 when the Pentagon started trying to short-sheet you guys at Langley.”
“Short-sheet us, hell. They’ve been out for blood and they’re not going to be happy until they’re standing over the Agency’s lifeless corpse. But this isn’t about Washington politics. Stone’s gone over to the other side.”
“Bullshit.” Camille leaned back in the chair and left the bag of candy on the Marine colonel’s desk.
Chronister reached into a worn leather attaché on the floor and removed a stack of papers. He passed Camille a photo of Hunter handing over a crate to someone on a loading dock. She glanced at it and immediately handed it back to Chronister.
“This shows nothing.”
Chronister passed Camille a stack of photos depicting Hunter at the same warehouse with the same man. He also included other shots of Hunter with a dark beard and in Iraqi dress meeting with the same figure in a crowded bazaar. Chronister continued speaking. “The man he’s turning the weapons over to is a lieutenant of al-Zahrani. It doesn’t get much more serious than supplying weapons to one of the two men scrambling to become bin Laden’s successor.”
“OBL’s successor. I’ve been hearing a lot about that lately. So did some al Qaeda lieutenants finally catch on you’ve been holding the fucker for years and seize the opportunity to take over the network? Did they figure out that you’ve been running him, stringing them along, releasing just enough messages to make them think he’s in charge from some rathole in Pakistan?”
“I don’t have a clue what you’re talking about.” Chronister grinned.
Camille knew Hunter was part of the team that, less than a year after 9/11, had caught bin Laden, barely alive, hiding in a cave in a northern Pakistan. Of course, Hunter would never come right out and tell her, but instead had spun a wild yarn about a successful hunting trip for the world’s rarest animal, his excitement betraying the thinly disguised metaphor. “Don’t patronize me. You’ve had bin Laden on ice in Afghanistan for years. I’ve heard so many specifics from so many different units, I could take you to the cell block where you’re holding him. Hell, I even know the names of the kidney specialists you’ve got keeping him alive-if he’s still alive.”
“Al Qaeda sure has been an organizational disaster for years, hasn’t it?” Chronister laughed.
“Looks to me that might be changing with al-Zahrani and Abdullah fighting to pick up the pieces.”
“It’s not going to happen, unless, of course, they enlist a lot of traitors like Hunter Stone to help them out.”
“Hunter is not a traitor. No way.”
“Not knowingly. My guess is that he believes he’s selling stuff to run-of-the-mill insurgents. I’m willing to give him the benefit of the doubt when it comes to betraying his country. You, my dear, are a different matter. Do you know how Stone got those arms caches-by staying one step ahead of Black Management. You really have to hand it to the guy. He’s got balls-crossing not only us, but Rubicon and you. He didn’t go after Triple Canopy, Blackwater or any of the others. Think about it. He chose to mess with Camille Black’s very own Black Management. Think anything personal went into that decision to fuck Black Management? I think he wanted to screw you, Stella-screw the great Camille Black.”
“Anything personal between myself and Mr. Stone is none of your goddamn business.” Camille struggled to keep her voice steady, not wanting to show Chronister how furious she felt. Part of her couldn’t believe that Hunter would do anything to intentionally hurt her, but she had suffered so much over his fictional death, it was getting easier and easier to believe. She grabbed the bag of M &Ms and chomped down as many as she could shove into her mouth. Her anger grew with each bite as she studied the photographs. Chronister sat back and waited.
“Am I supposed to believe that he was working for you at the Agency when he infiltrated Rubicon?”
“He was ours.”
“Word on the street is that he was hooked up with Task Force Zulu.” Camille tossed the photos onto the desk.
“He did try to go to the Pentagon black units first, but they all turned him down. You know how strict certain units are about the operators having their lives in order so they’re not vulnerable to blackmail. His was a fucking mess. I assume you might know something about this.”
“You’re talking about financial hangovers from his ex-wife?”
“Ex-wives. According to his file, he’s still paying on two separate boob jobs for those gals. Didn’t he knock up that last one-the crazy one-when you and I were undercover after those suitcase nukes in Turkmenistan?”
“We were both seeing other people-sort of.”
“Sort of.”
“As a good Southern boy, he felt he had to do right by her and marry her.” Camille wiped her hands on her pants.
“I’m from Brooklyn. The South doesn’t make a fucking bit of sense to me. But seems like he screwed you big time.”
Camille stood. “Look, I’ve got to go.”
“Stone approached the Agency a couple of years ago when things got a little too confusing for him. We helped him simplify his life by faking his death.”
“A couple of years ago. When exactly?”
“A little over two years ago-it was early March.”
“You mean a month before he was supposed to marry me?”
“I mean a month before he was supposed to marry you and Julia Lewis.”
Chapter Eleven
The veil of secrecy surrounding the highly classified unit has helped to shield its conduct from public scrutiny. The Pentagon will not disclose the unit’s precise size, the names of its commanders, its operating bases or specific missions. Even the task force’s name changes regularly to confuse adversaries, and the courts-martial and other disciplinary proceedings have not identified the soldiers in public announcements as task force members.
– The New York Times, March 19, 2006, as reported by Eric Schmitt and Carolyn Marshall
Ramadi, Anbar Province
After another hour of exploration, Hunter found Khalid’s shop in a quiet corner on the edge of the souk, near a busy mosque. Bolts of colored fabric were stuffed into the small sales room and color pictures of the latest Middle Eastern fashions snipped from magazines were plastered over every square inch of the walls. The floor was littered with swatches of fabric, pin cushions and even a pair of scissors.