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“G
ENGHIS
,” Iggy said, inching closer to Ashland. “Why don't you take Monsieur Ashland for a walk?”

Ashland reached for his gun, but Iggy's artificial hand grabbed his forearm. Ashland yelped in pain. Camille knew his hydraulics could squeeze harder than his other hand ever could.

Black Management World Headquarters, McLean, Virginia
One Day Later

Camille had considered going to CIA headquarters in Langley for the meeting, but she preferred the subtle message it sent for the CIA's Director to come onto her turf, to the headquarters of Black Management. After a brief stopover at Black Management's Camp Obsidian in Afghanistan, Hunter had flown her and Iggy back to the States aboard the Rubicon Gulfstream, now outfitted with new livery and a fake registration number, the handiwork of Black Management mechanics. G
ENGHIS
had stayed behind at Camp Obsidian to look after al-Zahrani. They had arrived only an hour ago and Camille was dying to be alone with Hunter, but circumstances had yet to permit it. Time was critical if she was going to save her company from the wrath of the Agency. After what felt like over seventy-two hours of constant motion, they sat at the black glass conference table with the panther design etched into it, waiting on CIA Director Doherty. Iggy was squarely on board with the plan, but Hunter had reservations. She knew he wouldn't cross her intentionally, but she doubted he would contribute much.

Her executive assistant showed Director Doherty in and Iggy started to introduce everyone when Doherty interrupted.

“Black, I'm shutting you down.” He pointed at her, wagging his finger. The Irishman's face turned redder with each word. “This is the biggest setback in the War on Terror since the Pentagon botched our intel on Tora Bora. Maybe bigger.”

“A lot of us have a very different take on Tora Bora, but we won't go there.” Camille held her hand up, nervous as hell because so much was at stake, but appearing the cool and calm operator that she was. “It seems to me that without a presidential finding authorizing G
OLD
D
RIFT
, it's an illegal op. No way do I believe that you guys played by the book on this one and ran a presidential finding by Congressional leaders.”

“Don't quote the Bible to me.”

“What would happen if Congressional leaders found out the Agency's running an al Qaeda training camp? Or the media?” Camille said as she watched his face.

“You mean what would happen if they found out a subsidiary of Rubicon was running the camp. Don't you think we've already war-gamed media plans? Try this headline: H
ALLIBURTON'S
E
VIL
T
WIN
R
UNS
T
ERROR
, I
NC
.”

“We have a full confession from al-Zahrani. He seems to think the whole thing was hatched in the Vice President's office,” Camille said, bluffing. The last time she had talked to G
ENGHIS
, al-Zahrani was only semiconscious from a bad concussion.

“Al-Zahrani's confession is so easy to spin, we won't even need Fox News for that one. It would go something like, ‘al-Zahrani's last desperate move against the US, trying to turn the American people against its government.' We've got them chasing their tails and killing each other off. Al-Zahrani is the ultimate counterterrorist weapon.”

“And he's mine now,” Camille said, pushing to the edge as she relied on instinct. She was too tired to think several steps ahead, as she usually did, and had to rely on the plan she and Iggy had come up with beforehand.

“Look, Black, this is the single most successful program we've ever had against al Qaeda. It's stopped dozens of attacks. How do you think we caught those London bombers who wanted to take out the planes over the Atlantic? They were a homegrown group of British Muslims, but eventually they reached out for al Qaeda's blessings—they all do. That's when we give them a little money, a slap on the back and take over operational control until we can be sure we've got everyone, then we roll it up. Christ, we're not fighting an organization anymore. Al Qaeda's a social movement and this is just about the only weapon we've got. We're all on the same side on this one. We've got to figure out how to pick up the pieces. Turn him over to us.”

“Right, then you shut me down like you threatened. No deal.”

Iggy smiled and leaned back in his chair as they had planned. “You know, Cam, I know you'd never run to the media or Congress. But what I was thinking, we hand al-Zahrani over to General Smillie at the Pentagon's SSB—you know, home of the super-spies of Force Zulu.” Iggy chuckled. “I'm sure Smillie will know what to do with him. Like Director Doherty said, ‘we're all on the same side.'”

Camille would never endanger a successful ongoing antiterrorist operation, but she also had to save herself and Black Management. She smiled as she sensed the shift in dynamics and felt their plan working. “The CIA's been battling the Pentagon for its very existence and the military's winning. My guess is that first thing he'd do is run to the President.” She paused for a moment to let the implications sink in. “Mr. Doherty, how fast do you think you can close up shop at the CIA and fold your operations and resources into the Pentagon?”

“Could never happen.” The Director fidgeted in his chair.

“Oh, yeah?” Iggy said. “What happened to the last two CIA directors that crossed the Pentagon? Seems like there's a word for those guys—
former
directors. Hate to say it, but in the War on Terror, the Pentagon's the eight-hundred-pound gorilla and at best you guys at Langley are
Lancelot Link: Secret Chimp
.”

Director Doherty rubbed his fingers together, swiveled his seat around and stared out the window. Camille knew she needed to keep cool, but it drove her crazy to wait on a response. The man's face was impossible to read. The back of his bald head was even worse.

Then Hunter opened his mouth to speak and Camille cringed inside. Hunter was a warrior who liked to remain above politics and he had made it clear that he didn't approve of playing one part of the government off against another. “Sir.” The Director kept looking out the window. “You should know that I'm a member of the SSB's Force Zulu—”

“I know.”

“Sir, part of my orders when Zulu sent me to infiltrate Rubicon were to report back any signs of CIA involvement with them. And you should also know, sir, we have standing orders to report back any intel on any OGA black ops we come across. Zulu is definitely keeping an eye on the Agency.”

“Keeping it in its crosshairs is more like it,” Iggy said with a grin.

“I'm aware of the SSB's unilateral operations.” Director Doherty swiveled his chair back toward the conference table. Camille was almost trembling from fatigue and nerves. The Director cleared his throat and said, “I think we would all like to see this successful program continue. It seems our current contractor, Rubicon Solutions, has had some recent security lapses. Everyone at the Agency thinks very highly of Black Management. Is there any chance you would be interested in assuming Rubicon's training and recruitment contract?”

“It better be a sole source contract—I don't want to write another RFP ever again in my life,” Camille said as she exchanged triumphant glances with Iggy. The outcome was looking better than they had imagined.

“We can run it through an existing Black Management training contract,” Director Doherty said. “Seems you've got secret contracts channeled throughout several government agencies. I think Department of Education would be a fitting cover for this one.”

Iggy scribbled figures on a legal pad, then looked up at the Director. “So what do you guys pay Rubicon to run the al-Zahrani organization? My back-of-the-napkin math says al-Zahrani's whole global operation probably has an annual operating budget of $70-80 million.”

“Half that. Al Qaeda is a shoestring operation run out of caves and websites. And keep in mind thirty to forty percent of its operating budget is subsided through Sunni Islamic charities. The Rubicon budget is only $10-15 million.”

“Sweet,” Iggy said. “Forty million dollars of influence for a $10 mil investment. I bet that keeps your budget guys happy. Though I have one question: would we be responsible for fundraising and what happens if we raise surplus funds? Do we get to keep them?”

“A percentage. We can make it worth your while to divert anything you can from the real bad guys. Islamic charities throw around $200 million every year at terrorist groups. You won't have to run any telethons, that's for sure.”

Camille turned her head and stifled a yawn before she spoke. “We'll need additional start-up costs budgeted for the first year. And those numbers seem too low. I'm not sure you're factoring in the risk of not having a presidential finding. She felt the addictive rush of success waking her up. “I also want that prison contract—B
ALI
H
AI.
”

“That's a little more complicated.”

“I'll develop the expertise. We'll buy up a corrections company stateside and cherry-pick their executives to run it.”

“I'll look into it.”

“Good, I'll get with my fiscal people to cost everything out and we can meet again tomorrow.” Camille nodded, secretly hoping she hadn't overreached. She hated prisons, but she loved taking business away from Rubicon.

Hunter made eye contact with Camille. “Ms. Black, I need a word with you—in private.” His voice was forceful, but not enough so to embarrass her in front of the Director. “Now.”

“Gentlemen, I'll be back in a moment. In the meantime, you two can sketch out an understanding so we can get something worked out as fast as we can before anyone realizes al-Zahrani's AWOL. Contract transitions can be rough and I don't expect any assistance from your previous contractor.” Camille followed Hunter outside the conference room and shut the door.

 

“Have you lost your mind? You can't run an al Qaeda terrorist camp,” Hunter said, his voice tense, controlling anger she sensed underneath.

“It's all about hiring the right staff to pull it off. I have some old East German Stasi contacts who've run tango camps in Yemen. I'll bring them in for technical assist.”

“That's not what I was talking about. We're becoming the terrorists in order to save ourselves from terrorism. That's not right. It wasn't right when Rubicon did it, it's not right if you do it.”

“Maybe not, but so far it's effective. I love my country and I want to keep it safe.”

“So do I. But not by becoming like them.”

“Give me a break. We already torture, kidnap and kill in the name of national security and you know as well as I do, a lot of innocent civilians have been caught up in that system—because it is a system, it has to be fed and sometimes there aren't enough really bad guys to keep it going. And you know, I think it's worth it. It's kept the Homeland safe.” She watched the tension in his face grow and his gaze become more distant. That scared her.

“You know, it's all starting to sound like one big, sick scam.”

She slipped her arm around his waist. “Why don't you come help me? I need someone I can trust who's fluent in Arabic and who can keep an eye on things on the ground. We've got the Agency by the balls right now. I'll broker a deal that forces them to straighten things out for you with Force Zulu. They wouldn't like it, but they could do it. We could throw in an honorable discharge or maybe even another staged death. You could become Mr. White to my Ms. Black and we could—”

“I love you, but I can't. I live to track down and kill the bad guys, not train them.”

“Are you sure you can still do that with the same gusto? From now on, every time you've got a tango in your sights, you'll be wondering if he's one of ours, if he's the guy who's going to take out the next set of hijackers because he's convinced they're al Qaeda dissidents.” She could see the trouble in his face. She pulled him close and kissed him, taking her time, playing with his lower lip. “Join me.”

Hunter pushed her away. “For god's sake, al-Zahrani raped you. How can you suddenly forget everything and become his puppet-master?”

“Believe me, I'll take him out and replace him as soon as we can. Doherty is low-balling me, but even so, with the prison contract thrown in, we're looking at over $100 million a year by the time I get through with it. That would sure pay for a lot of victim therapy, if that's what it takes to keep me sane until we can pop him. I can live with that. And I love it that we can skim off the top from Islamic charity terror tithes. That could really expand the margins.”

“I love you. I really do.”

“Honey, understand I have to start positioning the company for post-Iraq. We've been trying to break into serious Agency contracting, but so far we've only gotten scraps. Cofer is pulling in everything to Blackwater. Finally, I'm getting a plum.”

“You're selling your soul. I can't,” Hunter said as he turned and walked away.

“Wait! We've still got Rubicon's Gulfstream. What do you say we fly to the Ozarks for a few days together while you think about it?”

“There's nothing to think about,” Hunter said and kept walking.

“That Gulfstream's got the range to take us to Hawaii. I did promise you. We could go swimming with sharks.”

“You already are,” he said without stopping.

“Stop! Please.” She ran up to him and blocked him from getting on the elevator. “I love you. More than anyone or anything. I can't lose you now after all we've been through.”

“Well, maybe you ought to get your priorities straight.” His voice was cold and it hurt.

They looked each other in the eyes for several seconds without speaking. The worst part was that she knew he was right about the immorality of the contract. And deep down she also knew she couldn't lose him. Not again.

Camille blinked.

“I've boxed myself into a corner,” Camille said, reaching out to his hand. “I guess I could sell my part of the company to Iggy.”