they can’t do much training if they’re being shot at very often.”
“General Varlowe, does that mean the advisory committee recommends approving the contract?” Beverly Ann Shumard, who knew her way around a boardroom, also knew the value of consensus building. She had learned that as a four-term congresswoman from Pennsylvania.
Varlowe glanced at Derringer, who nodded. “Yes, ma’am,” the general replied. “Of the members I polled, it was six to two.”
“What were the objections, if I may ask?”
“One member was queasy about working with the Chad Government. The other was worried about the military situation, but that was before the U.N. announced its pullout in favor of the French.”
Beverly Shumard immediately went on point. “Uh, when did you ask the board members, General? I mean, we only just learned of the situation this morning.”
“Last week. We…”
“Beverly, that was my doing,” Derringer interjected. “We got a heads-up from our liaison at State. I thought it advisable to start contingency planning in case the contract materialized, but I didn’t expect it this soon.”
Shumard leaned back, tapping her polished nails on the table. “All right.” The tone of her voice was flat, noncommittal.
Rowell sensed a growing tension in the room and decided to deflate it. “If I may, I’d like to address a couple of other matters. First, what’s the down side to this contract? I don’t mean risk to our people, but potential harm to SSI.”
Derringer was about to speak when Wilmont intervened. “That’s a legitimate concern, Harry. We’ve already assessed the corporate prospects, and as you’ll note in the briefing paper, we believe that the risk is minimal while the downstream benefits could be substantial. Worst case: something goes wrong while our team’s over there and we’re implicated in some wrongdoing by the Chad regime. Frankly, and I don’t want this repeated, that would be worse than having some of our men killed. The State Department could fall over itself backpedaling away from having issued us the contract. Consequently we might have trouble getting more work in Africa.”
“But we’re not doing much there right now,” Derringer interjected. “That’s one of the reasons for taking this job. Not only does it open the door for other work in the region, but it actually enhances our reputation at the same time. If we have to spin the contract to Congress or the public, we can always hang it on the antiterrorism hook. It wouldn’t be hard to justify our work as fighting local terrorists, some of whom certainly have radical Islamic contacts.”
“Okay,” Rowell said. “Second question. What plans are there for extracting our people if things go south?”
“As a matter of course, we always have two contingencies for getting SSI personnel out of a trouble spot.” Wilmont was warming to his subject, glad to have something substantive to discuss for a change. “The first is usually priority airline scheduling. With minimal notice, our teams can get aboard most government transportation, and that’s especially so in this case because we’re working for the State Department. The backup plan is having our own assets standing by elsewhere in the region. We don’t have details yet but I’d guess in Egypt; possibly Niger. That’s expensive, but it’s always part of our planning.” He looked around the room, making eye contact with each person. “We have never yet left anyone behind.”
Sensing that the board was swinging his way, Derringer risked a question. “Very well. I think we’re about finished. Any other points of discussion?” He looked at Shumard. “Beverly?”
Dr. Shumard bit her lip — she rarely wore lipstick — obviously unconvinced. “Well, I don’t… no! There is one thing.” Her hazel eyes locked on to Derringer’s. “I’d like to see the contract written so we can withdraw over matters of ethics. I mean, if some of the troops we’re training are involved in abusing people, we should pull out, with no penalty to us.”
Derringer spread his hands, palms up. “I see no problem with that. But we’d have to specify who makes the decision. Presumably it would be this board, but realize that State will have a voice in the matter. After all, we’re working for them. Do we need a vote on Beverly’s motion? Any objections?”
No one spoke; clearly most were disinterested.
“Excuse me,” Varlowe said.
“Yes, General.”
“I don’t want to seem cynical, but I think you should consider something. Let’s face it: the U.S. Government is unlikely to invoke sanctions against a black nation because of the domestic political fallout.” He paused for a moment, emphasizing his point. “Assuming that some of our clients get out of line, how is State going to adopt an ethical standard in Chad that it ignores in Zimbabwe or Sudan or Angola or several other places? They’re also among the most corrupt on earth but they still receive millions in foreign aid, and who knows where the money really goes?”
Shumard was an intuitive counterpuncher, and she replied in kind. “General, no one has ever accused me of being naive, but let’s face facts. If we withheld aid from every corrupt government in Africa or anywhere else, we’d just about isolate ourselves from the human race.”
Varlowe conceded the point with a graceful dip of his head. “Indeed we would, ma’am. Indeed we would.” The tone in his voice said,
“Very well,” Derringer said. “Mrs. Singer, please note Dr. Shumard’s concern. We’ll revisit the subject in our next meeting, before concluding the contract.”
Hardly missing a beat, Derringer picked up the agenda. “Now, under old business, we have the proposal to expand our electronic warfare support program…”
6
“This is the place.” The Chadian guide waved a bony hand as if revealing a marvel.
The three “tourists”—two French, one Belgian — took in the Saharan vista. They were vastly unimpressed.
Felix Moungar sought to improve his guests’ opinion of the region. “We have had two surveys conducted by geologists,” the official explained. As a deputy of the Ministry of Mining, Energy, and Petroleum, he was well placed to know such things.
“You say the surveys were both positive?” The inquiry came from the obvious leader of the trio, a swarthy, heavyset native of Nice. He had a perennial two-day beard, partly in concession to a scar running along his left cheek. It was a souvenir of his time in
Moungar nodded eagerly, flashing his white smile.
The visitors took in the gaping pit, many meters deep and perhaps two-thirds of a kilometer wide. Some abandoned excavating machinery lay about, giving the facility a forlorn, idle appearance.
The Frenchman regarded his guide. “If this mine is still useful, why isn’t it in operation?”
Deputy Minister Moungar raised his narrow shoulders in elegant resignation. “Alas, my friend. There is practically a glut on the world market. But the consortium’s, ah, partners are willing to fund a small start-up because of the secrecy this place provides.”
The explanation only drew a grunt from the former Legionnaire. No more response was necessary: he already knew the identities of the parties, including the silent partners beyond the borders of Chad and France. What they did with the product was no concern of his. He and his colleagues were merely interested in the lucrative contract they stood to conclude for protecting the short-term operation and ensuring the product’s safe shipment.
He glanced at the nearest of his friends. “Etienne, what do you think?”
The tall Belgian glanced around. “Good approaches, no surprises. I suggest using only the main road in and out — better control of access and egress. And random patrols, of course.”
“Of course.” The older man winked at his friend. A covert smile passed between them. He turned to the third
