“I have no problem killing tangos, but I don’t like taking out some poor working class slob trying to get ahead,” Camille said as she absentmindedly tapped her pen on the table.
“Jesus. It’s big boy rules around here.” GENGHIS threw his arms into the air. “Play like a girl and you’re going to get us all killed to save your boyfriend’s ass.”
Anger flashed in Camille and the kernel of truth in what he was saying made her more furious. “You’re out of line, soldier.” She jerked her head around and pointed at GENGHIS. Her finger was inches from his face. Snake eaters like GENGHIS knew only one type of ass chewing and she knew if she didn’t throw in enough insults and profanities, he’d look at her, laugh and spit Skoal on her boots. She took a deep breath. “If you want to work for me, then shut your fucking cock holster long enough to realize who’s in charge and then support me in my orders. Otherwise, you can just continue your little five-knuckle shuffle back in your hootch and go home.”
She glared at him. He didn’t blink. Neither did she.
Seconds passed.
“Are we clear, GENGHIS?”
“Yeah.”
“Are we clear young man?”
“Yes, ma’am. I was out of line, ma’am.” GENGHIS looked away and stared into the room, checking out like a grunt being dressed down by an officer. “It won’t happen again, ma’am.”
“If you want to work for me, you have to show respect. That goes for me and my senior staff.”
“Yes, ma’am. Understood ma’am.” His speech was clipped and military in cadence.
Camille glanced over to Iggy and Virgil. “I want to make sure this is clear to everyone. This mission is not about saving ‘my boyfriend.’ This mission is to extract an operator who infiltrated Rubicon and who possesses information that Rubicon wants to keep suppressed at all costs.”
Iggy shined his laser pointer at the satellite photo projected on the overhead screen. “Back to business, everyone exits in the food truck. They have to peel off their disguises before they hit the gate. A third team will be providing overwatch from a building near the gate. We’ll also have a little fireworks at their number two gate and Rubicon will be doing everything they can to rush their shooters outside the wire to quiet things down.” Iggy turned off the projector. “That’s the plan, unless you want the full SMEAC.”
“No need. I’ll be in on the mission briefing and the ‘crawl, walk, run,’” Camille said as she studied the floor plans.
GENGHIS cleared his throat and said, “A couple of borrowed Ford Expeditions instead of food trucks would make it look like their own guys are going after the bounty. That way they might not tie the op to Black.”
Iggy ignored him.
“Iggy?” Camille said. “We pose as Iraqi cops all the time, I don’t know why we can’t use Rubicon as cover. Is there a problem with that?”
“No ma’am. No problem. Rubicon’s SUVs are parked outside the bars most of the night. I can send someone out for a joy ride.”
“We have Rubicon uniforms and ID badges?” Camille said.
“The spooks stockpiled them as soon as we ran into the first trouble with them.” Iggy powered down his laptop.
“Include me and GENGHIS among the fake prisoners,” Camille said. “The mission’s all yours, sir. Make it happen.”
“You got it,” Iggy walked toward the door to the main ops center. He had no sign of a limp and if he wore long pants, no one would suspect that he was missing his right leg below the knee.
“Ma’am. Any idea what that information is, ma’am?” GENGHIS said. “Is it related to Rubicon beating us to sites with large weapons stockpiles?”
“I’m guessing it is. I wouldn’t be surprised if we find out they’re selling seized arms back to the insurgents, but I’m only speculating.”
Iggy stood in the doorway. “That would be enough to bring down the bastards. You ever think about how much business that would free up for us? Why the hell would they ever take a risk like that? They’ve got billions in contracts and that’s not even counting Afghanistan and the drug work they’re doing in South America.”
“I know.” Camille set down the pen. “Rubicon has raked in over fifteen billion in Iraq contracts. That’s a hell of a lot at stake, but you know, if peace breaks out and things settle down here, all that goes away. Maybe they’re doing us all a big favor and making sure it doesn’t.” Camille had seen the CIA flounder about for most of the 1990s, searching for a real purpose after the collapse of the Soviet Union and the end of the Cold War. She sure as hell didn’t want to be in the same listless position if the War on Terror abruptly ended. Everything she had worked so hard to build up would be over and Black Management would be out of business. She didn’t particularly like it, but she needed the War on Terror-a lot of people did.
“I wouldn’t put it past them to bankroll the tangos to stay in business. They screw their own guys every chance they get.” GENGHIS snorted.
“Can I see you in your office for a minute?” Camille said.
“Sure thing.” Iggy motioned with his prosthetic arm for her to walk ahead of him. They entered his office and he shut the door.
Blinds covered a window looking out into the operations center. They were lowered, but the slats were turned so that he could keep an eye on things. The office was just big enough for a desk, a few chairs and a vinyl couch. Stuck in the corner beside bookshelves were what Iggy called his dumb arms and legs. His running leg and swimming limbs were the latest of their kind, each costing fifteen to twenty thousand dollars, but they had no brains. The smart ones cost three to four times that.
Most of the time he wore his smart limbs, which had microprocessors that constantly compensated and adjusted to whatever activity he was doing-walking slowly, climbing stairs, driving, eating, typing. Servo-motors opened and closed hydraulic valves in his ankle and wrist, increasing or decreasing movement in response to the microprocessors that measured his movement fifty times a second. The limbs were Bluetooth-enabled so they could be adjusted remotely with a laptop. Out of concern that an enemy hacker could gain access to his body, he had refused to be outfitted with them until their programming was upgraded with 256-bit encryption. Only he, Camille and a handful of his doctors knew the alphanumeric password.
“What’s the story with you and GENGHIS?” Camille said. She stood beside his desk and put her hand on a stack of papers.
“One I don’t tell,” Iggy said as he sat down.
“You’re going to have to. I need to know whatever it is.”
“You know I’m professional.”
“But GENGHIS isn’t. I want to know what you know about him and don’t like.”
“Did you know he’s Carmen’s godfather?” He pointed to a picture of one of his seven kids hanging on the wall next to a shot of him in jungle camouflage holding a sniper rifle.
Camille sat down. She had never considered that GENGHIS might have been his friend, let alone the godfather of his oldest daughter. Tonight was the first time she’d ever seen them together and they didn’t exactly seem to get along.
“This stays between us.”
“Of course.”
“GENGHIS and I were both in Delta. He came up through Marine recon, then switched over to the Army. He’s the kind of guy who didn’t care about losing rank and that’s pretty much all I cared about. They were looking at swapping my bird for a star and I got a chance for some field action that would help make the case for my promotion. I handpicked my team. GENGHIS, a guy named Pilkenton and I gave the Libyans a little technical assist in complying with international agreements on chemical weapon production.”
“Meaning, you were on a black op to knock out a factory?”
“Flattened the goddamn complex. Woke up Qadaffi in his tent sixty miles away.” Iggy grinned, pleased with himself. “Anyway we were on the egress to the rally point, outside of Rabta and ran into resistance. We neutralized it, but Pilkenton took a round in the face. We were running behind and racing to get the hell out of there. You take out a chem plant like that and you’ve got all kinds of fallout you don’t want to be exposed to. The winds were light, but they were shifting and about to blow toward us. Pilkenton was slowing us down, bleeding all over the place and groaning. He couldn’t help it, the poor bastard. Anyway, we heard another Libyan patrol coming, looking for their buddies. Pilkenton would’ve given away our position. There was hardly any mouth there to put your hand over to shut him up. GENGHIS snapped his neck, then carried the body to the LZ. Pilkenton never would’ve survived anyway.” Iggy’s gaze was distant, still somewhere in the Libyan desert. He took a deep breath. “It’s hard to explain how someone with a gunshot wound to the face dies from a broken neck.”