As soon as they cleared the guard shack, Hunter turned toward Beach Dog. “Dog, you don’t really-”
“I like surfing the big waves, if that’s what you’re getting at.” Beach Dog smiled in a way that gave Hunter the feeling the guy really was coming on to him. “That trailer over there. That’s the boss-lady’s.” He pointed to a retro-style trailer, but drove past it.
Hunter had nothing against gays and even had intervened several times to keep some poor guy from getting the shit kicked out of him just because he had lost the chromosomal luck of the draw. But he still felt a wave of nausea when he thought about two guys. Two chicks were a big turn-on, but two guys were just gross, particularly when one of them was him.
As they drove past several helicopters, Hunter said, “Why don’t you pull over there out of the streetlight?” He wished he didn’t have to deceive the guy. He would be careful not to injure him permanently.
“My trailer’s just over there by the helicopters.”
“I can’t wait, dude-if you know what I mean.”
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Brown & Root’s open-ended logistics contracts from the Army and Navy indeed much of the military privatization campaign are grounded in a 1992 study the company did for the Defense Department that several analysts said formed the template for privatization of logistics for a downsized U.S. military. Soon after the company delivered the classified study, which reportedly concluded that the Pentagon could save hundreds of billions of dollars by outsourcing, Brown & Root won its first competitively bid logistics contract. Vice President Dick Cheney was defense secretary when the first Brown & Root study was done, and he became chief executive of its parent company, Halliburton, when he retired…
– The Los Angeles Times, January 24, 2003, as reported by Mark Fineman
Camp Raven, the Green Zone, Baghdad
“Are you sure you wouldn’t rather stay at the al-Rashid?” Pete said as she unfurled a sheet and guided it as it fluttered down onto the leather sofa in the Black Management trailer. Pete had insisted on helping Camille make the bed and Camille got the feeling she was hanging around, wanting something.
“No way. It’s run by Halliburton. I trust them about like I trust Rubicon.” Camille held a down pillow under her chin and worked it into a pillowcase. “Here I get 600-count cotton sheets and I don’t have to worry about suicide bombers or cockroaches. Roaches creep me out almost as much as Halliburton does and I’d be hard pressed to say which one of them is more likely to thrive after a nuclear war.”
Pete laughed. “Any guesses where Hunter is?”
“He won’t stick around in the Green Zone. Too many people can recognize him here. If I had to guess, I’d say he’s already out of the bubble. He can pass for an Arab and he’s got the balls, so I wouldn’t be surprised if he heads to Saudi. It would sure throw anyone off his trail. No Westerner in his right mind would rush into the flames of hell.” Camille shook her head. “I can’t think about it anymore. I’m driving myself crazy mulling over the possibilities.”
“I laid out some fresh towels for you in the bathroom. It’s a little cramped in there, but it works. I’ll bet a shower will feel real good right now.”
“A lot of things would feel good right now.”
“I can arrange for anything you want. Massage. Anything.” Pete smiled, her eyes undressing her.
Camille unzipped her carry-on-sized Swiss Army suitcase and took out a USP Tactical pistol, a cosmetic case, then a lacy, black night gown. She held up the negligee just to play with Pete. She had bought it only a few weeks ago before Hunter stood her up in Dubai. It had been two long months since she’d had sex and for a guilty second, she actually entertained Pete’s offer. Camille was one of the few females among thousands of men in the Green Zone and she could have had any one of them she wanted. The top operators kept their bodies hard and well-sculpted and she liked that, but she had hardly paid attention in the last two months since she had learned that Hunter was still alive. It was time to get over him, do the job for Chronister and go on the prowl again.
The more she thought about it, the more she wanted sex. She even considered Pete again, but decided she liked her women femmier. “Thanks for the offer. But I don’t think you have what I want tonight.”
Shortly after Pete left for the night, Camille closed her eyes and stuck her head under the shower stream. For a few choice moments she could forget about Hunter and quit worrying about what she was going to do when she found him. It scared her how much she wanted to kill him and that she knew deep down that she really could. As long as he was alive, he would keep hurting her and the pain got worse each time. Chronister had given her an easy way out. She wouldn’t be killing him for personal reasons that she might someday feel guilty about; it was for god and country. She didn’t have to decide what she was going to do now. Instead she focused on the sensation of the warm water caressing her skin and savored each steamy breath. It was good to breathe humid air again. She was so sick of the desert, she was ready to move into a terrarium.
She poured shampoo into her hands, rubbed them together, then ran her fingers through her hair. It felt bristly from all the dust and dirt.
A sudden cool draft brushed her body. She looked up, but the glass shower stall door was fogged over and a towel she had slung over it obscured everything else.
“Pete?”
No answer.
“Pete, is that you?” She felt a wave of fear as she quickly assessed how vulnerable she was, naked and without anything to use to defend herself. Water rolled down her face and shampoo burned her eyes. She splashed water on them and looked around the stall to see if there were anything that she could use as a weapon. A plastic Bic razor was her best bet and it wasn’t a very good one. She listened, but couldn’t hear anyone over the sound of the shower, even though she sensed a presence.
She smacked the safety razor against the stall and broke off the head. With enough force and at the right angle, the jagged plastic handle could puncture a neck. She took a deep breath and kicked open the shower door.
Hunter sat on the closed toilet seat. He didn’t move, but looked her over with elevator eyes and smiled.
“You’re looking damn good, Stella. Damn good.”
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Camp Raven, the Green Zone, Baghdad
Shampoo suds slid from Stella’s hair onto her shoulders, then flowed down to her breasts where the stream forked. Hunter traced each shifting tributary with his eyes, starting with the ones that curved around the sides, the foamy bubbles making each breast seem even softer than he had remembered. He watched the suds drip from her nipples toward the floor, but his gaze stopped halfway at the swirls of her pubic hair. Her curly brown hair danced with the flowing bubbles, a shimmering veil teasing with fleeting glimpses of pink.
He reached for her just as she lunged at him with a plastic razor handle. Dodging, he grabbed her arm and stood up, throwing her off balance so that she slipped on the sudsy linoleum. He bent her hand backwards, forcing her to drop the plastic weapon. His foot crushed it. Just as her head was about to smack against the sink, Hunter jerked her up by the arm, pulling her close. She tried to get away from him, but his strength overpowered her.
As Hunter seized her wrist, Camille raised her foot to strike him, then felt her other foot slide across the slick floor. Suddenly the edge of the sink was right in front of her. She raised her free arm to catch herself and pain shot through her other wrist as Hunter twisted. She struggled to regain her balance, but everything she touched was wet and slippery and then she found her body pressing against Hunter. For an instant, she liked it. She squirmed, but he held her locked in a bear hug.