“It’s the only way we can do the job the government wants us to do.” Camille shook her drink and the ice cubes clinked against the glass. She struggled to keep herself focused on the conversation. “The last thing we need is to pay for some creative legal work, set a precedent that somebody’s law actually applies here in the Wild West and have it come back and bite us in the butt. Can you imagine the civil liability for property damage alone? Black Management has taken out over five thousand insurgents and we all know the definition of an insurgent is pretty damn loose around here. It’s more or less anyone we take out. I don’t even want to think about the wrongful death claims Iraqis could come after us with.”
“Patrick did mention something like that.”
“Sometimes I lie awake at night-you know Washington is a mercurial place. Sure, we’re saving the president’s ass in Iraq, but you ever stop to think about what could happen if the other guys sweep the next election?” Camille got up to pour herself another gin and tonic. “I shouldn’t be talking like this. It’s been a hell of a day. You want another round? Oh, forget it. I’ll bring over the bottles.” Camille braced the three bottles between her forearm and belly and balanced her own glass. She set them on the table, then plopped onto the sofa. “I’m going to hurt Rubicon. I just don’t know how yet. Any more reports of them taking aggressive action toward us?”
Pete reached for the Wild Turkey. “Things were hopping today along the Syrian border. It started in Tal Afar, then spilled over into the Syrian side. The first rumor I heard was they thought they had al-Zahrani, then some of our guys came back with conflicting reports they’d nailed a French spy in Syria. We were all out in numbers. A few of our guys and some from Rubicon tripped over each other, but I’m pretty sure that’s all it was.”
“Rubicon has what they want, so maybe they’re going to leave us alone and hope I leave them alone. What I can’t figure out is why they wanted Hunter so badly. I’m starting to think some of what he was telling me is true. He told me Rubicon has a mole on the inside here.”
“No way.” Pete set down her drink, pursed her lips and shook her head. “Our boys are loyal.”
“I don’t care what we call them, they’re mercenaries. They’ll kill for a price, which is about eight hundred bucks a day.”
Pete kept shaking her head. “A lot of the boys are very loyal to you-to the legend of Camille Black.”
Camille cringed at Pete’s words. She had proven today that she was no legend. She started thinking about touching Hunter’s missing fingernails last night and she wanted to cry. She paused before speaking to compose herself. “The operators come to me because I buy them the top-of-the-line toys and they stay only because I pay top dollar. And they don’t really stay. They all move around-some come back, though.”
“We’ve got a lot of former recon Marines who thought the world of your father.”
“I have no illusions. We’re not the Marines. We don’t get them while they’re young and use borderline cult tactics to mold their loyalty.” Camille waved her hand in the air. “Don’t get me wrong. I think the world of the Corps. No organization has ever produced better warriors, better patriots or better human beings, but they have something we don’t that goes beyond tradition, beyond patriotism. The Marines have got some kind of core truth that grabs people inside, bonds them with each other and gets them to push themselves to give their all in a way the Army could only dream of. They fight for each other, not money or flags. No military in the world has been able to replicate it and god knows they’ve tried.”
“You really miss your dad, don’t you?”
“Like you wouldn’t believe.” A couple of tears rolled down her face. She looked away and tried to wipe them off before Pete noticed.
“Hunter reminds you of him, doesn’t he?”
“Don’t go there.” Camille picked up her drink. “Now how did I get started on that?”
“I think you were getting hungry and starting to ramble. Which reminds me, I hear Halliburton is starting up a new lunch wagon right outside our front gate.”
“You’re getting me off track, though I am starting to think about real food.” Camille grabbed a handful of pistachios. “I remember where I was going with all of that. A Rubicon spy is the only explanation for how they knew to intercept Hunter’s helicopter this morning.” Camille’s fingernail broke as she pried open a nut. She twisted the splintered nail off and rubbed her finger against the jagged edge. She closed her eyes. “Who else knew about Hunter other than you?”
“The entire base. I issued a general alert right after you told me he was inside the wire. A couple of guys saw him run out of your trailer and streak across the compound. Anyone with a brain could’ve figured out it was him spinning around in the helicopter you were shooting at. It was quite a spectacle and word travels fast around here, especially when it involves a buck naked man running from the boss-lady’s trailer and stealing a helo. I’m sure guys were laughing about it all over Afghanistan today.”
“Great.” Camille sighed. “Be very cautious. Keep as much as you can compartmentalized. From here on out, we’re working on the assumption that Rubicon’s got someone planted among us.” Camille refilled her glass, but didn’t dilute the gin with tonic water. “Okay, I’m ready now. So what did you find out about that Julia Lewis bitch?”
“You’re not going to like it.”
“I’m numb. Bring it on, baby.” Camille leaned back and ran her hands through her hair. It was like straw, but she could wait to get back under the shower, given fresh, raw memories. She picked up her drink and gulped it down.
A few minutes later Camille closed the file and dropped it onto the coffee table. Except for the headers at the top of each page which made it appear to have been faxed from the Black Management Virginia offices, it looked like a duplicate of the CIA file Chronister had shown her a few days earlier. “That was a waste of time. I’ve already seen this. Get me something new. She’s got a Maryland address. Send someone over to interview her-today.”
“It’s getting kind of late.”
“It’s still afternoon there.” Camille threw a nut into her mouth. “Is there anywhere here you send someone out for pizza?”
“You really want to ask someone to make their way across town during D.C. rush hour?”
“Set it up so they go there first thing in the morning. And pepperoni would be great, though that lamb kebab and goat cheese one was pretty good the other day.” Camille rubbed her eyes. She knew Pete didn’t approve of her being with Hunter-or any man for that matter-but it was starting to annoy her. “I want to know everything about her relationship with Hunter. Get me dates, pictures-everything.”
“That’s not going to be easy. You really think you can knock on someone’s door and get them to spill their whole life history for you?”
“Don’t send a soldier. Send one of the spooks. Trust me. Any decent spy will know how to get what I want-including the pizza.”
Chapter Forty-Nine
Sixteen of the 44 incidents of abuse the Army’s latest reports say happened at Abu Ghraib involved private contractors outside the domain of both the U.S. military and the U.S. government. Army investigators have reported that six employees of private contractors were involved in incidents of abuse…But so far nothing official has actually been done. Much as the civilian leadership at the Pentagon escaped unscathed, the corporate leadership at the firms has avoided investigation and possible punishment. So far, the only formal investigation has been one conducted by the firm involved; CACI’s investigation of CACI cleared CACI.
– The Washington Post, September 12, 2004, commentary by Peter W. Singer