[SSI 02] Prometheus's Child

by Harold

  Lee sat down again, demonstrating his willingness for further discussion. “Well, as long as there’s enough tea to keep my throat wet, I’ll be glad to talk, Mr. Kadabi.”

  The minister unleashed his slippery grin again. Pointedly glancing at his Swiss watch, he said, “It is still rather early in the day, my friend. But, ah, shall we change to something more . . . convivial?”

  Before Lee could answer, Kadabi pressed the buzzer on his desktop. The servant reappeared, bearing a bottle of iced champagne.

  The American’s expression opened visibly. “Ah, Mr. Kad . . .”

  Kadabi raised his slim right hand again. “Please. From now on I am Francois.”

  “All right . . . François. I’m Steve.”

  “Now then, Steve, this is a decent ‘89. That is, if you do not object.”

  Lee shook his head slightly. “Not hardly, sir. Er, François. Usually I’m partial to single-malt scotch.”

  “Very well, Steve. I shall remember. For next time.”

  * * * *

  23

  N’DJAMENA

  Major Matthew Roosevelt wasted no time in the orientation briefing. “There’s a lot of crime in the city,” he began. “We do not recommend going anywhere alone, especially after dark.”

  Breezy raised a hand. “What about packing?”

  Roosevelt’s eyes widened. “You mean, carrying a concealed weapon?”

  “Well, sure. Most of us have pistols.”

  Roosevelt rubbed his jaw. “I’m not sure. I mean, I understand your desire to defend yourself. But—”

  Lee interrupted. “Major, I think we can claim diplomatic status. I mean, we’re contracted to the State Department and we have ID to that effect.”

  Lee’s intent was clear: if any SSI people had to shoot for blood, they would invoke immunity.

  Roosevelt walked to the door and made a point of closing it. When he returned to the head of the room he inhaled, held his breath, and let it out. “All right, look. You did not hear this from me. I’ll deny it if anybody quotes me, okay?”

  Lee nodded. Foyte uttered an “Ooh-rah.”

  “I hardly go anywhere without my Hi-Power. But if I ever had to use it, I’d probably be out of the Army by noon the next day, if I wasn’t in jail. What I’m saying is, I’d go a loooong way around the block to avoid having to shoot somebody.”

  “Certainly,” Lee replied. “We’ve been in that situation before.”

  The assistant attaché surveyed the audience. “What do you guys carry?”

  Foyte responded. “We settled on nine millimeters, Sigs and Glocks. We brought a couple cases of Romanian ammo so any brass we leave behind will be untraceable. If we need more, nine mil’s easy to get.”

  Roosevelt grinned despite himself. “Gunny, you are one sneaky son of a . . . gun.”

  “Roger that, sir.” Foyte managed a deadpan expression.

  “Any nonlethal stuff?”

  “Like what?” Bosco asked.

  “Pepper spray, Tasers, that sort of thing.”

  Foyte and Lee glanced at Martha Whitney. She almost blushed. “Maje, honey, I got both. I also got two knives including a switchblade.” She flashed her Aunt Jemima grin. “And, Sugah, Ah knows how to use all of ‘em.”

  Roosevelt ignored the endearment and nodded gravely. “Well, if you can disable an assailant without killing him, there’ll be a lot less paperwork.”

  * * * *

  U.S. EMBASSY

  Steve Lee and Dan Foyte entered the American embassy on the south side of Avenue du Gouverneur Felix Eboue, about four hundred meters west of Rue Victor Schoelcher. They were close enough to the embankment to smell the ambience of the Chari River.

  Matt Roosevelt and Colonel Brian Posen were waiting for them.

  Posen showed the SSI men to a secure meeting room and wasted little time with formalities. Taking the chair at the head of the table, the chief of the advisory group looked at Lee. “I understand your meeting with Kadabi went pretty well.”

  Lee glanced at Foyte, who realized that a mere NCO counted for little. It was not the first time.

  The erstwhile West Pointer squirmed slightly and, with a sideways glance, said, “Well, Colonel, as I was telling Gunny Foyte, I found Mr. Kadabi both friendly and forthcoming.”

  Posen nodded, hands folded before him. “That’s fine, Major. Fine. As far as it goes.” He chewed his lip for a moment. “Let me warn you, though. If François Kadabi is acting friendly, it’s because he wants something. Oh, he’s not entirely disingenuous. He can be genuinely helpful, but in our experience it’s only when he sees an advantage for himself.”

  Lee nodded. “Very well, sir. What’s that mean where we’re concerned?”

  Posen nodded to Roosevelt, who swiveled in his chair. “Steve, I was taken by your mention that Kadabi warned you about jealousies within the Army and security forces. Ordinarily that’d just be common sense in a place like this. But we know that Kadabi pulled strings to get the liaison job with SSI. Apparently he called in one or two markers.”

  Beneath his breath, Foyte began whistling “The Marines’ Hymn” when Lee kicked him beneath the table. In a rare gesture of interservice harmony, Foyte shifted to “The Caisson Song.”

  “All right,” Lee replied. “What’s the significance?”

  Roosevelt flipped his notebook. “He went over his department head to make sure he worked with you. It took a little pull because of the diplomatic connection on our end, but he got it done. He’s working with an upper-level manager in the natural resources ministry.”

  Lee shrugged. “So?”

  “So,” Posen interjected, “that gentleman is a cousin of Kadabi’s. He deals with Chad’s uranium exports.”

  Lee and Foyte exchanged raised eyebrows. Lee asked, “Then why weren’t we told about that before?”

  “Steve, I just found out about it myself,” Roosevelt replied. “Apparently it was worked out a couple of months ago but they’re keeping it quiet. For obvious reasons.”

  Foyte decided that he had endured enough of being ignored. Looking at Roosevelt, he asked, “Sir, I’m just a retired jarhead noncom. What’s obvious about it?”

  Roosevelt fielded the question before Posen could visibly take offense. “Ah, excuse me, Gunny. I was speaking about the connection between the counterinsurgency force you’ll be training and the country’s uranium deposits. One of our main Co-In concerns is keeping those assets out of rebel hands. In other words—”

  “In words a Marine can understand,” Foyte interrupted, “you don’t want this Kadabi character making deals with his cousin while SSI’s clients provide his muscle for him.”

  A question occurred to Lee. “Who’s the cousin?”

  Posen shook his head. “Excuse me?”

  “Kadabi’s cousin. Who is he?”

  Roosevelt consulted his notebook again. “Moungar. Felix Moungar.”

  “Does he have authority in security matters?”

  Roosevelt thought for a moment. “He might. But if he doesn’t, Kadabi sure does. Their main advantage is a lot of information and mutual back scratching.”

  Foyte whistled aloud. “Then it’s like we discussed with Frank Leopole before we left. We damn well better decide just how well we’re gonna train these boys.”

  Roosevelt grimaced. “Ah, Gunny, I would caution you against describing black men as ‘boys.’“

  Foyte opened his mouth, then pressed his lips together. Political correctness and racial sensitivity ranked in his esteem somewhere between women’s lib and communism. He merely nodded, staring into the assistant attaché’s brown eyes.

  Lee retrieved the situation, deftly saying, “Your point is well taken, Matt, but Gunny’s question still stands. We discussed it before leaving, but of course it’s not an SSI decision. So . . . just how well is this new outfit to be trained? For that matter, how much training can it really absorb?”

  Roosevelt and Posen exchanged glances. The senior officer took up the subject. “T
he background is in your briefing packet,” Posen began, “but I’ll summarize.” He paused, gathering his thoughts. “Most of the men you’ll deal with have field experience within the past couple of years. Many of them have combat experience. All of them speak French, many Arabic as well. They come from units that have received training from U.S. or French instructors, and that combined with what you’ll teach them is expected to result in a two-tiered mission: greater operational capability and providing a cadre for domestic training as well.”

  Lee replied, “Yes, sir. That’s my understanding. We were told that we’re going to build up to battalion strength.”

  Roosevelt made a politely skeptical sound, not quite a snort. “Well, yes, officially. But actually the unit is going to look more like a reinforced company: about 240 men at first. It’s commanded by a lieutenant colonel because that’s commensurate with a battalion.”

  Foyte ventured another opinion. “Then we’ll be operating in platoon strength most likely.”

  “Well,” Roosevelt responded, “we don’t expect you guys to operate with them, but you might provide, ah, advice on occasion. But essentially yes, they’ll probably deploy with thirty to forty men most of the time.”

  Lee smiled to himself but Roosevelt caught the look. “Something on your mind, Steve?”

  The West Pointer leaned back, drumming his fingers on the desk. “Oh, I was just thinking—that’s how we got involved in Vietnam.”

  * * * *

  SSI COMPOUND

  J. J. Johnson was the lead briefer, but he did not relish the task. He much preferred instructing to lecturing, but his fluency in French military terminology made him the hands-down favorite for delivering the SSI Counterinsurgency Brief. It was essentially boilerplate, distilling the conventional wisdom of Co-In philosophy for use almost anywhere the company might operate.

  Facing a room full of Chadian Army officers, Johnson introduced himself, minimizing his Legion background by referring the audience to the SSI personnel sheets in their packets.

  In his Parisian accent, the American began by apologizing for duplication of any subject matter that the Chadians might already have studied. Privately, he felt that probably few had ever given ten minutes’ thought to counterinsurgency doctrine, but he did not want to alienate potential allies. It was dogma with SSI to avoid the appearance of condescension toward any clients.

  Johnson had practiced the presentation with PowerPoint and a flip chart, depending on local facilities. He was pleased to see that the electronic option was preferred, at least in the elevated ambience of the security offices. He inhaled, focused, and began to summarize the six points.

  “Premier: Identifiez qu’il n’y a aucune solution purement militaire. Recognize that there is no purely military solution. Nearly all insurgencies are caused by dissatisfaction with the status quo, for whatever reason. Therefore, while military methods might gain a temporary advantage, political and economic measures must go hand in hand.

  “Deuxi è me: Obtenez l’intelligence fiable. Obtain reliable intelligence. That’s often easier said than done, gentlemen. There are many sources of information on rebellious factions, including disaffected members of those groups. But you should beware of relying too heavily on prisoner interrogations. Torture seldom provides reliable intel, especially for long-term plans. Instead, consider infiltrating the groups, paying informants for accurate information, and bribing marginally committed rebels.

  “Troisi è me: É tablissez une politique coordonn é e de gouvernement à tous les niveaux. Establish a coordinated government policy at all levels. This of course is beyond the military’s control, unless the army runs the government. But it is essential to have all agencies and organizations working toward the same goals with a consistent approach. If insurgents see the agriculture department as being lax while the health agency is hardcore, they will only want to deal with agriculture.

  “Quatri è me: S é parez les insurg é s de leur appui. Separate the insurgents from their support. In some cases physical separation can prove successful, as the British did in Malaya in the 1950s. In Vietnam the so-called strategic hamlet concept was employed with less success, partly because the locals still needed to return to their villages and farms. A better method is political and economic separation: make it in the interest of the population to support the government rather than the insurgents, especially where the rebels are not of the same ethnicity.

  “Cinqui è me: Neutralisez ou d é truisez l’organisation insurg é e. Neutralize or destroy the insurgent organization. That requires a closer look at the second principle: intelligence. Once you know where to find the rebels, you can make plans for military action. Or you can employ financial or other methods, such as making it difficult or impossible for insurgents to move about.

  “Sixi è me: Pr é voyez une strat é gie continue soulignant la stabilit é politique. Provide for a continuing strategy emphasizing political stability. This principle is related to the first. Once you have gained the upper hand militarily, keep up the pressure on the insurgents by continuing successful policies and expanding others, such as food, medical, and financial aid. In time the combination of these factors will drive the insurgents away.”

  With that brief preview, the American turned to his audience. A Chadian lieutenant colonel raised his hand. “Mr. Johnson, I wish to ask about specifics in our current crisis.”

  Johnson nodded. “Certainly, sir.”

  The officer, who bore a nasty scar on his chin and left cheek, clearly had seen combat. “Our concern is not so much with local dissidents as with outsiders. They make little pretense of caring for the Chadian people. Mainly they wish only to cause us problems, to spread our troops too thin and expend money on more security forces.” He arched an eyebrow. “When the enemy lives in Libya and Sudan, which of your principles apply?”

  It was an unexpectedly astute question, and Johnson glanced toward Steve Lee, sitting in the third row. A slight nod of the head. Your call, J. J.

  “Well, in that case, sir, it depends on the specifics, as you say. If the insurgents are operating on their own, obviously the local population is far less a factor. In that case, it’s no longer really an insurgency.”

  Johnson stopped speaking French and turned to Lee. “Major, is it safe to say that State and our attaché would have to approve if we became involved in repelling cross-border attacks?”

  Lee stood briefly, knowing that some of the Chadians understood English. “Mr. Johnson is correct. Our team is limited to a training and advisory capacity. Any operations beyond those positions would require approval of U.S. Government agencies and probably renegotiation of our contract.”

  Johnson summarized the team leader’s response. “Toutes les op ér ations au del à de ces positions exigeraient l’approbation des organismes gouvernementaux des É tats Unis et probablement de la ren é gociation de notre contrat.”

  * * * *

  After the briefing, Johnson sidled up to Lee, both pretending to appreciate the local tea and wafers. “Boss, what do you make of the colonel’s question? Are they asking us for help beyond the Co-In contract?”

  Lee squinted behind his glasses. “I don’t know, J. J., but we damn well need to find out.”

  “Hey, I’m just a multilingual grunt. Want me to ask him one to one?”

  Lee nodded. “See if you can steer him over here. Maybe we can get some straight answers if nobody else is listening.” He tipped his cup to his lips, barely feeling the hot liquid, staring straight ahead.

  “Something else?” Johnson asked.

  “Oh. Well, I was just thinking. This coming after my meeting at the security ministry the other day. I’ll tell you what, J. J.: I think we’ve stepped into something more than we expected over here.”

  * * * *

  24

  N’DJAMENA

  “There is another team. American this time.”

  Etienne Stevin delivered the news dispassionately, as was his wont. It was one rea
son that Marcel Hurtubise valued the man: he was immune to panic. Whenever his time came, he would die with a far lower pulse than most men, that seemed certain.

  It also meant that Stevin lacked a certain amount of imagination, excepting a sentimental romanticism about dying as befitted a Legionnaire. But such men were valuable nonetheless.

  Hurtubise swiveled in his padded chair and laid down La Chanson de Roland. The mercenary seldom tired of reading the ancient account of the Battle of Roncevaux. “Tell me.”

  Stevin detoured to the refrigerator, extracted a beer, and slid into a straight-backed chair. He twisted off the cap in one swift motion. His hands were large, powerful, experienced.