‘That’s a perfectly reasonable request. May I ask you a few questions first though? Professional curiosity.’
A thin smile lit up her face – a smile that was hiding something.
‘Sure, whatever. Fire away.’
‘You are indeed Colonel Reginald John Rudd, formerly of the United States 1st Battalion 23rd Marines—’
‘Yeah, that’s me, who the fuck else d’ya think I am?’
The smile remained in place, unwavering in its plasticity.
‘I wasn’t finished asking the question, Colonel. What I was going to say, is that you were dishonourably discharged from the United States Marine Corps—’
‘It was a dismissal, honey. Get it right.’
‘Pardon me?’
‘I was a commissioned officer in the ‘Corps. Non-coms get dishonourable discharges, officers get dismissals.’
Ms Hutton raised a sceptical eyebrow and flipped through the pages of the dossier.
‘Yes, fine, you were “dismissed”, then, under less than amicable circumstances. Correct?’
‘There may have been a few … irregularities … in my conduct. Sure. Accordin’ to the goddamned brass, anyway. They gots their version a’ events, I gots mine.’
‘It seems,’ Ms Hutton remarked as she thumbed through the papers on her desk, ‘that your entire military career has been riddled with “irregularities”, as you call them.’
Colonel Rudd laughed loudly, and there was blatant mockery in his tone.
‘Is that a fact now? Well why don’t you go on an’ tell me all about what you think you know about my military career. C’mon cherry pie! I’m waitin’ on ya!’
‘At age eighteen, in your very first year of military service, you were involved in the infamous 1968 My Lai massacre in the Vietnam War. You took to violence against non-combatant civilians with such remorselessness – and effectiveness – that you were drafted to a special Black Ops unit in the seventies, operating under the framework of the CIA’s notorious Operation Condor. You participated in a number of operations in Latin America in the seventies and eighties, both in the jungle, fighting guerrilla battles, and in urban centres as an assassin, while also running a torture slash “confessional” facility in—’
Colonel Rudd smirked and leaned back in his chair, putting his feet up on the edge of Ms Hutton’s desk.
‘Yeah yeah yeah, whatever. “No comment”, sugar, that’s all I gots ta’ say. But how in the fuck do you know that shit? This is all highly-classified information, which, even if it were true, an’ I had hypothetically participated in such missions, if they had hypothetically existed, I would hypothetically not be at liberty t’ discuss the details a’ ‘em with a goddamn civilian like you.’
Ms Hutton looked up at Colonel Rudd, her eyes sparkling with subtle, mocking amusement … and something else, something far darker.
‘There is almost nothing we at the Huntsmen Corporation do not know about you and your operations, Colonel. As I said, I just wanted to ask about some of these things due to my own curiosity.’
Rudd growled and folded his arms aggressively over his chest.
‘Find the answers to your fuckin’ curiosity in them there papers, honey. I ain’t gots ta’ answer none a’ your questions. Now let’s get back to what I want, no, what I need: information, goddammit!’
Ms Hutton’s expression remained cool and almost devoid of expression as she changed topics.
‘Fine. As you know, this coltan mine is owned and operated by one of our subsidiary companies, YTE-Tech. Now, the term “coltan” is a term used to refer to the ore, columbo-tantalite, that is mined here.’
‘That coltan crap is used in cellphones, computers, an’ all sorts a’ tech shit, ain’t it?’
‘Yes. Tantalum, an essential core component which is used to make the capacitors used in such items of technology, is extracted from the ore. To put it simply: no coltan, no tech items of any sort, anywhere. These mines are a primary source of one of the many essential streams of global economic lifeblood – the very lifeblood that feeds our factories and drives our financial enterprises.’
Rudd nodded and stretched his arms out in front of him, cracking his knuckles with a satisfying pop.
‘Yeah. I get it. This coltan shit is hella important for y’all ta’ be able t’ stay in business.’
With one eyebrow subtly raised, Ms Hutton smiled condescendingly before responding.
‘Indeed. “Hella” important, as you so eloquently put it.’
‘So that’s where me an’ ma’ boys come in. Y’all have been experiencing some, how do I put it – troubles – here, from local militia groups. Ain’t that the case?’
‘Well, yes. That’s the simplified version of the events, at least. This is why we’ve decided to hire your mercenary army.’
‘We’re problem solvers, Hutton. Best a’ the best. We make problems … go away.’
‘It seems you’ve dedicated most of your life to making uncomfortable problems “go away” for various important people and governments, Colonel Rudd.’
Rudd laughed dryly and humourlessly.
‘The CIA, the US Army, the Marine Corps, I made a lotta their “uncomfortable problems” vanish. But in the end them fuckers started t’ think my methods were too “extreme”. Fuckin’ hypocrites, the lot a’ ‘em. So yeah, after a little “incident” in the most recent Iraq conflict back in ’04, I was court-martialled an’ dismissed. Didn’t matter none to me, though. I just kept on doin’ what I do best, see. Recruited me the best “problem solvers” from around the world, who’d also been kicked outta their respective military an’ government organisations for, well, for fuckin’ just doin’ their goddamned jobs, an’ doin’ them too goddamned well for their libtard snowflake governments’ likin’.’
‘And so you started your own army of mercenaries. How fortunate for us.’
‘Damn straight!’ he boomed. ‘Y’all know our services don’t come cheap. I know you suits had a good hard look at our
