“Since we lost Jerry Pulaski in Argentina, we’ve been down one gundog. I want to talk it over with Eddie, as head of shore operations, and Linc, as our lead war fighter, but I think we might have our replacement. He was an Army Ranger for eight years and has spent a lot of time deep in the ugliness. Not to mention he managed to impress me in just over an hour of knowing him.”
“What about his contract with Fortran?” Max asked. “Also, I would like to verify the story of how he got captured. Just playing devil’s advocate, but maybe this guy’s lost his edge.”
“I’ll talk to him and follow up with you before I make any decision,” Cabrillo promised. “Any word from the Setiawan’s dad?”
“There’s an air-ambulance jet at Karachi Airport. The old man didn’t come, but he sent his wife and the kid’s grandparents. I let them know as soon as you hit the Islamabad road that you would be here soon. What’s your ETA?”
“Another forty minutes.”
“Okay. George is already on the tarmac in the chopper to ferry you guys out to the ship, and we’ve maybe got another job lined up.”
“Really? That was fast.”
“Came through from
“Two questions,” Juan said. “What’s she doing in that godforsaken area in the first place and, second, has he been in contact with the government?” The first was really rhetorical. It didn’t matter. But the second was critical.
“No. He’s a smart guy. He knew that if he reached out to the ruling junta, his daughter would be hunted down and either ransomed or imprisoned for life.”
“That’s good. Listen, we’ll talk about it when we get back to the ship. Meanwhile, start a background check on the financier and his daughter and anyone she was traveling with.”
“Eric and Mark are already on it.”
“Oh too, if MacD comes back with us, it’ll be on a limited access basis for now. Tell Hux to bring her medical bag to meet us. I want her to make sure the guy’s not worse off than he’s letting on.”
“Ranger tough, huh?”
“Macho 101 is the first class they teach at Benning.” Juan killed the connection.
In the main cabin of the executive jet, Linda was bent over Seti, checking on his condition. He asked how the boy was doing.
“The sedative’s starting to wear off. I don’t want to risk giving him any more, but I also don’t want him regaining consciousness before we transfer him.”
“They have an air ambulance waiting. If you juice him a little, they’ll be able to handle it.”
“Okay.”
Linc and MacD Lawless were swapping Afghanistan war stories. Linc’s had been one of the first pairs of boots on the ground while MacD hadn’t gotten into the country until a few years later. They didn’t know any of the same people, but the situations they’d faced were usually similar, especially when dealing with the locals.
“Pardon the interruption,” Juan said. “MacD, can I have a word with you?”
“Sure.” He set aside the bottled water he’d been sipping and limped after the Chairman to the rear of the aircraft. “What’s up?”
“How’d it happen?”
Lawless immediately grasped what he was being asked. “There were three of us guarding a Pakistani TV crew—myself and two locals we’d worked with before. We were about an hour out of Kabul when the cameraman asks to pull over. Ah tell him it’s a real bad idea, but he said it was an emergency. The terrain was clear, so Ah figure, what the hell. We pull over, and no sooner had the wheels stopped turning than about a dozen Taliban materialize out of the ground. They’d been hiding under blankets that they covered with sand. It was a perfect ambush. Ah didn’t even get a shot off.
“The camera crew was a plant. They killed the two Afghan guards on the spot and trussed me up like a Thanksgiving turkey. They stole our truck, and, well, you pretty much know the rest. At some point Ah was transferred to the trunk of a car, Ah think before we crossed into Pakistan, but there’s no way to be sure. Whenever they got the chance, they’d smack me around some, and brag about how Ah was going to be a hit on the al-Qaeda version of YouTube.”
He spoke as if he were reporting the events of someone else’s life. Cabrillo suspected that it was still too fresh in his mind. The one thing he could tell was that Lawless regretted what had happened to the two Afghans more than his own capture.
“By now,” Juan said, “you’ve figured out what we do, yes?”
“Private security, like Fortran.”
“It goes well beyond that. We’re also an intelligence gathering operation. We do some consultancy, and we take on some ops for Uncle Sam when he needs complete deniability, though for reasons that aren’t important right now that line of work has dried up for the time being. We thoroughly vet all our clients. We work only for the good guys, if you follow my meaning. And we work so far under the grid that only a handful of people in the world know who we are. Your bosses at Fortran, for example, have no idea. You won’t see us mentioned in the media because I run a tight outfit that leaves no room for error.”
“Sounds like a pretty good crew,” Lawless said neutrally.
“It’s the best at what it does. Each member has been handpicked, and when someone new comes aboard everyone gets a vote.”
“Are you offering me a job?”
“Provisionally. A couple months ago we lost a man. Jerry Pulaski was his name. He was what we called a gundog, a hardened combat veteran used mostly for when the fur starts flying. You’d fill his position.”
“Do you guys mostly operate in this area?”
“No. Actually, this is our first time here. This whole region’s lousy with outfits like yours and Blackwater, or whatever they call themselves these days. We’d just as soon leave it to them. This rescue was a one-time type of deal.”
“My contract with Fortran runs for another few months,” Lawless told him.
“Don’t you think after what happened to you that they would let you out of it?”
“Yeah, probably,” he drawled. “Um, listen, though, Ah’ve got a little girl to support.” He paused, swallowed, and went on. “My folks are raisin’ her, and they need the extra money Ah make.”
“What were you being paid?” Juan asked bluntly. MacD gave him the number, which sounded reasonable.
“Okay, you’ll keep making that during your probationary period. After that, if things work out, you’ll become a full member of the Corporation and share in the profits.”
“Um, are y’all profitable?”
Cabrillo responded by asking, “What do you think this plane’s worth?”
Lawless looked around for just a second. “G-Five like this? About fifty million bucks.”
“Fifty-four, to be exact,” Juan told him. “We paid cash.”
THEY HANDED OVER a still-sleeping Setiawan to his tearful mother on the tarmac between the Corporation’s aircraft and a chartered Citation fitted out as a flying hospital. The grandmother too was weeping, while the grandfather watched the exchange stoically. Arrangements had already been made to have Customs and Immigration look the other way. They whisked the boy onto the idling jet, and as soon as the door was closed and sealed it began to roll.
Juan had planned to send their plane out of the country, but with the possibility of a new job soon he told the pilot to park it and find himself a hotel room in the city. They hefted their guns and equipment in nondescript nylon bags and made their way to where a row of helicopters was backed up to a Cyclone fence about fifty yards from the General Aviation terminal building. These were all civilian choppers. For the most part they were painted white with a stripe of color across their noses and along their flanks.
One, however, was a glossy black and looked as menacing as a gunship, though she carried no visible
