SSI COMPOUND
Steve Lee turned from his IBM ThinkPad and greeted his visitors. “Hi, guys. C’mon in.”
Dan Foyte, Jeremy Johnson, and Martha Whitney shoe-horned themselves into the small office that the Chadians had provided for SSI’s administrative use. Johnson gallantly offered the vacant chair to Whitney, who steadfastly refused the gesture. “No thanks, J. J. honey. I may be fat but I can still stand up.” She gave him a nudge in the ribs.
Lee exchanged male-bonding glances with Johnson and Foyte, then got down to business. “After J. J. mentioned the Foreign Legion’s information on Groupe FGN, I checked back with headquarters in Arlington. We had a heads-up that a couple of French outfits were working here but we didn’t know what they were doing. Well, it appears that this Hurtubise character got rid of the competition by one means or another. Marsh Wilmont and Frank Leopold think we should regard him as hostile.”
“How’s he a threat to us?” asked Foyte. “I mean, he’s not competing for our contract.”
“No, but there’s some interesting background info on him. I e-mailed David Dare and his spooks to look into him and they found some interesting stuff. He’s a pro, all right. National service 1982–84, Foreign Legion 1986–91, freelance for a while, then joined FGN. Evidently he was going to be excommunicated at one point but he beat the wrap. That puts him in pretty exclusive company because the research guys only found about fifteen people who were dumped by the Catholic Church in the twentieth century, including Castro and Juan Péron.”
Whitney gasped aloud. “My God, what’d he do?”
“It’s not clear, but apparently he took some hostages in a church or monastery in Burundi when he was freelancing several years ago. Some of them, including monks or nuns, were killed in the fighting and he was held responsible. My guess is that he wasn’t declared anathema because nobody could prove that he gave the order.”
“All right,” Foyte replied. “He’s a gold-plated bastard. But like I said, what’s our interest in him?”
Lee nodded to Johnson, who took the hint. “The Legionnaires I talked to all said pretty much the same thing. Hurtubise is all about results. He just doesn’t care who gets trampled as long as he gets what he wants. It can’t be proven, but it’s the next thing to certain that he or his people got rid of the other French PMC guys.” Johnson paused for emphasis. “If this FGN outfit starts to regard us as competition in any way, it could mean big trouble.”
“What’s FGN doing here, anyway?” Whitney asked.
Lee shot her a grin. “Bingo—the sixty-four-franc question. As Gunny says, we’re not doing the same thing—at least it looks as if Hurtubise and company aren’t involved in training. The most we can find out right now is some sort of security work. Not just here in the capital but up along the border as well.”
Foyte asked, “Where are they based?”
“They have an address near the French embassy but apparently that’s just a room with a phone and a mail drop. Near as I can tell so far, they move around a lot, in and out of the city. I’ve asked Roosevelt to see what he can find, but he’s pretty high-profile, being an attaché.” Lee turned back to Whitney. “Martha, I’d like you to snoop around, ask some discreet questions and see what you can learn. Don’t risk drawing attention to yourself, but maybe develop some contacts in our embassy and theirs.”
“Will do, Maje. I done already got a cover as a stenographer.”
Johnson looked at her. “I didn’t know you can take dictation.”
She waved a bejeweled hand at him. “Honey, I can’t write a word in that chicken-scratchy text. But I remember conversations for quite a while afterward. I can write ’em down or use a recorder.” She winked broadly. “Mind like a platinum trap.”
“Uh, I think that’s steel trap,” Johnson replied.
“Well, sweet cheeks, some folks got steel minds and some of us got platinum.”
She waved bye-bye and strode out of the room, humming “Hello, Dolly!”