Prometheus's Child

35

SSI COMPOUND

“How’s Ms. Congeniality today?”

Chris Nissen knew the question was rhetorical. He grinned at Lee who entered the hostel at the stroke of 0830. The medic thought, They can keep that clock!

“Walking wounded.” Nissen thumbed a gesture over his shoulder, toward the bathroom. Lee heard stirrings therein, and assumed that the patient was ambulatory.

Lee sat down. “Chris, I need her awake and lucid. We have to know…”

“I know.” Nissen raised both hands. “I know. And she’s a lot better. But I didn’t try to debrief her about her outing with the French chick. Figured you’d want to handle that in person.”

“Well, can she remember anything?”

“Major, all she said was something about her brow chakra trying to pull her solar chakra out through her crown chakra. Whatever that means.”

Lee laughed aloud: a long, genuine cackle. When he gulped in some air, he explained. “Martha’s a spiritualist. Oh, she talks about being Baptist, but she’s a big believer in the Hindu power points of the body. What she’s saying is that her headache is so bad that it wants to lift her stomach out through the top of her cranium.” He chuckled again. “I never heard it explained better!”

Nissen gave a slight shake of his head. “Never figured you for a Hindu.”

“Oh, I’m not. If anything I’m a lapsed Congregationalist. But I studied eastern and oriental philosophy in graduate school. Actually, there’s something to the chakras. There’s an internal logic to the wheel of life…”

“Maje, I’m just a fugitive from the Elm Street boys’ choir. That’s as far as my religion went.”

“Okay,” Lee said with a grin. “Enough philosophy for now.”

“Honey, we’re just getting started!” Whitney appeared at the bathroom door, fresh scrubbed and dressed in a striped garment that Lee could only describe as a mumu.

“My God, Martha. You look… great!”

She rubbed her hands together in exaggerated fashion. “And I feel great, too. Sergeant Nissen, what’s for breakfast, bro?”

The medic turned chef rose from his chair. “I’ll get started. But this is no short order house. You get what I fix.”

She placed her arms akimbo and gave Nissen a stern look. “And you’re likely to get it back on your shoes if’n I don’t like it!”

“Uh, that chakra thing?”

“Solar chakra, honey. As in, from the bottom of my stomach.”

“How ‘bout a nice omelette? With black coffee.”

“Now you’re cookin’, sugar.” She pronounced it “sugah.”

Whitney slid into the vacant chair and leaned toward Lee. “Now, Major honey. What do y’all want to know?”

Lee produced a notebook and sat back. “Everything.”

She told him.

SSI OFFICES

“Gentlemen — ladies — we don’t have much time.”

Derringer scanned the eight people seated around the polished table. He would have preferred a late night meeting or even a phone poll, but most of SSI’s directors had other obligations, and 0800 was the best he could manage.

“Here’s the short version,” he began. “Our team in Chad has made good progress with the counterinsurgency unit it’s training. But they’re not up to speed and aren’t expected to complete the first cycle for a couple of months. Meanwhile, a potentially critical development has occurred in-country that requires a quick response. There’s a French PMC operating legitimately with the French government but apparently it’s doing some moonlighting as well. Steve Lee, Martha Whitney, and the military attache in N’Djamena have discovered that a clandestine mining operation is under way along the northern border with Libya. We don’t know for sure but it looks as if our counterparts from Paris are planning on smuggling uranium ore, and possibly processed yellow cake, out of the country.”

“What’s the destination?” asked George Ferraro. The former naval systems analyst already thought he had a good idea.

“Well, one of the PMC’s usual suspects is an Iranian.”

“But we don’t know for certain that’s the end user.”

“We do not,” Derringer replied. “But State, DoD, and the embassy folks are worried enough to put our team on the operation.”

Marshall Wilmont spoke up. “I’d like to hear Matt’s appraisal of the personnel aspects.” Matthew Finch of the administrative support division seldom attended board meetings but Wilmont wanted his perspective.

Finch was a button-down Marylander whom Leopole insisted had been born in a vest. “Well, our contract has a clause saying that SSI training personnel can be activated for operations provided there’s adequate consultation, approval, and so forth. Evidently some of the team is willing to go and others… well, they’re not so eager. In any case, there’s precedent for such action if that’s a concern to anyone. Obviously it doesn’t bother State or DoD. Beyond that, we have an escalating fee scale based on a pretty subjective set of risk factors. Of course, if any casualties occur, the coverage automatically kicks in, regardless of the cause.”

Ferraro asked, “Has Ms. Pilong been consulted?”

Finch nodded. “I talked to Corin on the phone just before we convened. She’s taking care of a sick child, but she said there’s no contractual barriers.”

Derringer leaned back. “There you have it. Our people are in place, some willing to participate in a clandestine operation, and their assistance is wanted by State and Defense. We won’t make a lot of extra money off it, but I think we should take it. The risk seems fully acceptable, and the operation will gain SSI additional goodwill with our main client. The United States Government.”

Sam Small, a retired Air Force colonel and sometime SR-71 pilot, was first to respond. “Looks like a no- brainer to me. Minimal risk, possible big benefit. I don’t even know if we need to discuss it.”

Wilmont interjected, “Sammy, I understand your attitude, and I share your opinion. But anytime we’re faced with altering a contract, and this involves possible combat, Mike and I think the board needs to consider it.”

Small gave a shrug. “Okay, let’s go.”

Beverly Shumard’s icy blue eyes betrayed no emotion. “Ordinarily I would agree that this proposal, coming from two agencies, is worthwhile. But I wonder if we’re overlooking something.”

“Yes?” Derringer prompted.

“Unintended consequences, Admiral. If, as seems possible, we end up chasing uranium all the way to Iran, we might find ourselves in over our collective heads.”

“Beverly, there’s always the possibility of events spinning out of control. We all accept that fact when we sign on, whether in the military or with SSI. But as I’ve noted, this is a low-risk operation, limited in time and place.” Derringer looked around the room again. “Anybody else?”

No one responded so Derringer called for a voice vote.

“Dr. Craven?”

“Go.”

“General Rowell?”

“Affirm.”

“General Jonas?”

“You bet.”

“Dr. Frisch?”

“Yes.”