I still hadn’t heard the chopper coming back but knew it could return at any second. I nudged Justin to keep him talking.
“Back in 2003 when we came in, the week before we got to Baghdad, a national bank was knocked over by the guards who were supposed to watch it. Three hundred million in cash and gold. Well, I don’t know how that loot got there to Basra in some shithole of a hut, but that’s where it was.”
I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. Treasure hunting in Basra?
“There it was in a locked room under a tarp. There were two pallets. On one was millions of dollars in Federal Reserve US hundred-dollar bills, and on the other pallet were stacks of gold bars up to the waist. There were 105 of them in all. Each one twenty-seven pounds of pure gold, with the word Engelhard stamped into them. I’ve seen a few things, but when Toporski pulled that tarp, that took the cake. I mean, it was just…
“Right then and there, we decide to take it. Don’t tell the hotshots. Screw them. All six of us—including Haber and Eardley, our pilot—grab it all, load it into the Humvee. We had to take out the seats. The truck was scraping the ground. Then we hauled ass back to the plane.”
“And did what with it? How would you get it out of the country?”
“Eardley comes up with a plan. He’s gonna drop this gold- and money-filled Humvee from the plane into this lake he knows up north near the base, just open the back ramp and put it in neutral and dump her out. Mark its location, and we’re going to come back and get it.”
“Like sunken treasure.”
“Exactly, man. Like pirate booty. Then he’s gonna crash the plane, fake his death, and get out of the country.”
“Nobody stopped him?”
“No way. He was on a desert landing strip. Not like he had to ask the tower for permission. It was war.”
“What did you say when the others got back? Didn’t they ask where Eardley and the plane went?”
“What do you think we said? We don’t know. Acted like he just went nuts or something.”
“And they bought it?”
“Yep. Didn’t find a body, but with the plane down—they shut the case.”
“So how did he get out of Iraq?”
“He said he put a good chunk of money in a knapsack before dumping the rest in the lake, and found a guy in a pickup to drive him to the border. He bought a fake passport. He was a smart guy. He learned some Arabic. He would joke around with the Iraqis. He was a likable guy, with giant balls. I miss him.”
“Bullshit,” I said. “You killed him.”
“Not me. That was that asshole Therkelson. He said it was an accident.”
“So what’s all this here?” I said. “The camp and everything.”
Justin smiled.
“You’re going back for the rest of the money!”
He nodded.
“Exactly. We were training to go back into Iraq to snatch it. It’s in ISIS-held territory now.”
“But at the last second, Eardley bugged out,” I said, thinking about his reaching out to the reporter.
“I guess. He wasn’t the same after. He and Haber used to be buddies, you know. We all were. And we looked up to those two. Would have followed wherever they led. But Haber took over the training operation and brought in some…investors. The stakes got higher.”
“And Eardley had regrets?”
“I mean, he’d made this split-second decision to fake his death…he traveled the world, but he wanted his life back. The money wasn’t worth living the rest of his days underground, a war criminal instead of a hero. So he disappeared. Which we knew meant he was gonna blow the whistle on us all. Except the boss man tracked him down. Got to him before he could betray us.”
“And here we are.”
“And here we are,” Justin repeated, as the trill of the helicopter sounded out the open door behind us.