SSI OFFICES
ARLINGTON, VIRGINIA
Peggy Springer buzzed the inner office.
“Mr. O’Connor is here, Admiral.”
Michael Derringer punched the button on his console. “Thank you, Peggy. Please send him in.”
The founder and CEO of Strategic Solutions, Incorporated, sat back and almost physically braced himself. Ryan O’Connor was not even on the third page of a single-spaced list of people the retired admiral wanted to see. It was not as if Derringer disliked the tweedy career bureaucrat; it was more that the ex-naval officer objected to the concept of most State Department dweebs.
Derringer knew the basics: Ryan O’Connor (Brown, class of ’73; MA international relations) had joined State during the Carter administration and had climbed the GS ladder in pedestrian style. Considering that the earnest Bostonian had retained an Ivy League post-Vietnam view of America—aggressively imperialistic, hopelessly militaristic—Derringer occasionally marveled at O’Connor’s advancement under three Republican administrations.
The door opened and Ryan Michael O’Connor entered in all his Foggy Bottomed glory: charcoal gray suit; power tie; $60 haircut; and $350 monogrammed attaché case.
Derringer pushed himself out of the padded chair and extended a hand. “Ryan, welcome back.” He shook hands, remembering to grip extra hard, and was rewarded with the flicker of a grimace on O’Connor’s face. “Please, sit down.”
Beneath the cordial tone of his voice, Derringer cordially detested O’Connor’s John Lennon glasses. It was a visceral reaction, not unlike the response the former naval officer had toward slouching, slack-jawed youths wearing ball caps backward. A sign of mindless conformity.
O’Connor took a seat and placed his black leather case on his knees. He did not bother to look around, as he knew the layout of the office, having dealt with SSI on occasion. The good admiral’s walls were adorned with the sort of I-Love-Me esoterica common to retired military officers: lithographs depicting “glorious” historic events; signed photos bearing saccharine inscriptions from Very Important Republicans; and all manner of shield-shaped plaques denoting various assignments and commands. O’Connor almost sighed. So little time, so many wars.
He cleared his throat and began. “Admiral, as you know, I’m here on behalf of Undersecretary Quiller. He’s expanding the role of Arms Control and International Security, and I’m his new deputy for human rights issues.”
“How may we help you, Ryan?”
O’Connor bit his lip. He made a point of playing the Sir and Admiral game with the military types, and in turn they addressed him as if he were an adolescent nephew.
“Well … Mike … I know you’re accustomed to working with DoD, but this time State has the ball. You’ve probably seen the coverage from Saharan Africa, especially Chad. Frankly, we’re concerned about things getting even more out of control in the region, and the military doesn’t have the resources or even the expertise to step in, as usual.”
Derringer permitted himself a tight smile. “As usual.” It wasn’t entirely true, but he conceded that SSI and other private military contractors relied on DoD’s perennial shortages.
O’Connor leaned forward, his vest bulging over the case on his lap. “You should treat this as close-hold for the present, but I can say that we are going to be a major player in that part of the world, both for diplomatic and humanitarian reasons.”
“So the U.N.’s really pulling out.”
The GS-14 sat back and blinked. Behind his rimless glasses, his wide-eyed gaze reminded Derringer of an astonished owl. “Well, I did not say that, Admiral. I certainly did not!”
Derringer shrugged. “Very well, then. Forget I mentioned it. But if we’re getting more involved, obviously there’s some sort of vacuum. With or without the blue berets, American interests are going to include PMCs.” He raised a suggestive eyebrow. “Right?”
O’Connor retrieved the moment by nodding while looking down to unlock his attaché case. He withdrew a stapled document and placed it on the desk. “This is a summary of the situation as of last week, with predictions of near- and long-term requirements. Because SSI did such a fine job in Pakistan, Mr. Quiller wants to offer you first refusal on this training contract in Chad.”
Derringer retrieved the paper, which had been left slightly beyond his reach, and idly thumbed through it. “Very well. I’ll take a look and get back to you in a few days.” He plopped the document on his desk pad and folded his hands. “Ryan, I know you’re mainly concerned with human rights. What’s your interest in Chad? I mean, it must have one of the worst reputations on the planet.”
“Well … Mike … we’re not so naïve as to think that we can convert the rest of the world to our kind of democracy merely by example. But neither can we affect events there without being involved. You know—directly engaged. When possible, State’s position is to bring about change by helping from the inside rather than exerting force from the outside. As usual.”
Gotcha, sonny. The tight little smile was back on Derringer’s face. “You’re certainly right there, Ryan. I can think of three examples right off the bat.”
“Yes?”
“Germany, Italy, and Japan.”
The elegant attaché case snapped closed. “Good day, Admiral.”
“Good day, Mr. O’Connor.”