Alone and Unafraid (American Praetorians Book 3) (11 page)

“I’ll give it some thought,” I replied.  “I’d rather avoid dealing directly with the client as much as possible, under the circumstances.”

“I can’t say I blame you,” he said.  “They can be some snooty sons of bitches.  Anyway, with General Abu Bakr holding the airport, we’ve been able to get about two flights a day out.  The route there is still dangerous as hell, but Abu Bakr’s keeping a lid on the security situation there.  It’s his little fiefdom, and he’s not about to let it into anybody else’s hands.  It gives him leverage, at the very least.”

The convoy was across the river and passing through neighborhoods that were considerably poorer.  These looked more like what I expected in Iraq; dingy, shabby cinderblock and mud-brick buildings, with narrow, dusty streets filled with trash, rubble, and occasionally standing sewage.
  The few people we saw looked more furtive, moving out of sight as we passed.  That got my hackles up some.  When the locals clear out even though you’re not presenting a threat to them, it generally means they know something.

“You see that?” I asked Ventner.

“Yeah.”  His casual banter vanished, replaced by cold professionalism.  “I’d expect to get hit before the overpass.”

“What’s your SOP?” I asked him.

He was scanning the road ahead and didn’t turn to reply.  “We push through, especially since we haven’t got up guns on these things.”

“And if a vehicle gets disabled?” I asked.  I’d heard too many movement briefs that said “push through,” without a backup plan for an IED leaving a truck dead in the road.
  I’d also seen that go bad.  A lot of guys died when that happened.

“Then we herringbone, get out, and push the fight,” he replied.  “So far, we haven’t gotten hit here.  Some of the
WPPS guys got lit up a couple days ago, but it wasn’t enough to disable the vehicles so they got out without stopping.  For the most part, the factions seem to be more focused on gearing up to fight each other than going after Americans.  We’re always a juicy target, though.”

I nodded, even though he couldn’t see me, and kept my eyes out on the flanks.  I keyed my radio.  “Kemosabe, Geek
; Hillbilly.”  When Jim and Eddie replied, I proceeded to fill them in.  I got curt acknowledgements from both, then went back to watching the side of the road and the few visible windows and doors of the houses lining it.

But nothing happened.  Maybe the locals were just running scared enough that they hid when
any
vehicles went past.  Whatever the reason for their actions, no IEDs went off, no RPGs came banging in from the flanks.  In a matter of minutes we were on the 14
th
of July Bridge, crossing the Tigris a second time under its green arches and suspension cables.

Then we were across and into the Green Zone.

While there was still plenty of evidence of the old days, when the Green Zone had been the center of Coalition power in Iraq, now the place looked a lot like a ghost town.  There was next to no traffic.  Ventner pointed to the wall rising on our left.  “The Dutch Embassy and the range are there.  The Dutch have all but cleared out; they’ve got a couple hundred people including their security personnel.  I’m pretty sure they do most of their business by phone or VTC these days; I haven’t seen any movement in or out of the compound in the last week.”

We turned past the 14
th
of July Monument, bronze statues of Iraqi soldiers watching us drive by.  Straight ahead was the entry checkpoint for the US Embassy.  Security personnel were standing guard, wearing uniform khaki cargo pants, black polos, tan plate carriers, and carrying M4s.  Apparently the dress code had changed again.

It also said something about the overall situation if State was allowing their security to be openly kitted up and armed.  Usually they were pretty gunshy about such things, if you’ll pardon the pun.

Ventner showed his credentials through the windshield, and we got waved through.  Most of the guards were wearing Oakleys, but I didn’t need to see their eyes to read the nervousness there.  These guys knew how tenuous their position was, even if their bosses didn’t.

I didn’t need to be briefed to know that the State weenies weren’t all that aware of how bad the situation was
, evac or no evac.  In my experience, they never were.  A bunch of soft-suited college kids with no experience of the dirty side of the world.

We rolled through the gate in the razor-wire-topped concrete T-walls and into the Embassy.  We had arrived.

Now the hard part started.

Chapter 8

Ventner didn’t stop the convoy until we’d gotten to the billeting, a cluster of large, white-roofed buildings next to the river, inside another T-wall perimeter.  We did get a decent look at the compound as we went, though.  It was pretty swank, w
ith neat roads, plenty of brick, concrete, and landscaping.  The lawns and trees all looked freshly watered and manicured.  The head sheds were three stories tall, all steel, tan stucco, and glass.  There were a lot of cars parked, but many of them were covered with dust and didn’t look like they had even been started up recently.

The convoy pulled up toward the back of the billets, and we got out.  Ventner pointed toward the door.  “Y’all’s rooms are in there.  Don’t worry, you’re well back from any of the permanent personnel, so there shouldn’t be anybody snooping around.  I notice you guys don’t have a lot of gear; Renton told me about your exit from Basra, so that’s not really a surprise.  The CP guys are handling most of the logistics, so if you need anything, get with Cord.  He’s the pudgy ginger in Room R14.  He’ll get you hooked up.”

As Mike and I got our teams sorted out and started directing guys to their rooms, I saw Ventner pull our driver aside and speak to him quietly.  The sandy-haired guy nodded, then they walked over to us.  “Adam has a room picked out for your guy,” Ventner said.  “It’s in the center of your area, well away from any of the CP guys or any State weenies.  I don’t know how you want to work chow; I’ll leave that up to you.  The DFAC is up north, in that big one-story building that looks like a mall.”

I nodded my thanks, and called Nick over.  “Grab the Invisible Man and go with Adam here,” I said.  “I don’t think I need to tell him to keep his head down.”

“I don’t think so, either,” Nick replied.  “He was in my truck on the way up here.  I got the distinct impression he’s not happy to be here.”

“Even so, let’s keep an eye on him,” I said.  “I’ll get the teams together in a little bit and we’ll go over the security plan.  I don’t want him feeling like a prisoner, but I still don’t trust him as far as I can throw him.”

“Good deal.”  Nick turned and headed back to the vehicles, and a moment later came back with Black in tow.  He nodded to Adam, who led the way into the billets.

Haas came over, now in his “contractor” guise again.  “I think I can solve some of the
security issue, Jeff,” he offered.  “I probably need to keep my head down around here, too.  I don’t know for sure, but there are probably a few guys I know still working here, and I’d rather not skyline us by getting questions asked.  I’ll stay with the Invisible Man.”

I nodded.  “Good thinking.  Go ahead and grab your stuff.”  He went back to one of the back trucks, hefted his duffle out, and headed in after Nick and Black.

By now, just about everyone was inside.  Ventner’s guys had come up to take the trucks, and Mike, Ventner, and I were standing outside.  “You got a minute, Jeff?” Ventner asked.

“Yeah, sure,” I said, not sure I was looking forward to this conversation.

He led the way away from the buildings, until the three of us were standing under a few palm trees next to the T-wall on the river side of the compound.  Ventner stopped, his hands on his hips, and looked past us at the compound for a moment before speaking.

“Look, guys, I’ve had a chance to think about it, and I’d like to apologize for being pissy about the whole secrecy thing. 
I’ve been busy enough with this whole goat rope that some of the implications haven’t been all that obvious until I really stopped to look at them.  I should have smelled spook games as soon as Renton talked to me.  I don’t know the guy, but I definitely got ‘spook’ vibes off him.

“Add in that he brought you guys in, with your rep, and numbers that aren’t going to really make all
that
much difference on this op, and I should have known there’s something else going on.”  He squinted at me.  “You guys are here for something else entirely, completely separate from the evacuation, am I right?  And I probably don’t want to know any details, do I?”

I nodded.  “Yes, there is.  And no, you don’t.  Trust me, Joe; I wouldn’t be keeping you in the dark if it was any other way.”

He spat in the dirt.  “I was afraid of that.  Of course, I shouldn’t be surprised.  This is Baghdad, after all.  I’d be an idiot to think there weren’t all sorts of shady shit going on in the background.”  He looked me in the eye.  “You will fill me in if it starts to spill over toward my guys, though?”  It
almost
wasn’t a question.

“If it starts to get that out of control,” I said, “we’ll probably need your guns.  Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that.”  Although, knowing something of what we were getting into with Collins’ Project, I’d be surprised if it didn’t.

Ventner looked like he had something else on his mind.  He was looking back toward the billeting, chewing his lower lip a little.  “What is it, Joe?” I asked.

He shook his head.  “That guy you brought in, the one you don’t want to be seen?  Is his name Black, by any chance?”

Mike and I looked at each other, nonplused.  “You’ve seen him before?” I asked.

“If it’s Black, yeah,” he replied.  “He was a SEAL, about five, six years ago.  We were working Libya, in the same AO as his Team.”  He seemed to be searching for the words.  “A couple of those guys were playing a little fast and loose with the rules, and Black was definitely one of ‘em.  Nothing bad enough to get hammered for, but, well, my guys didn’t want to be around ‘em most of the time.”

“Can’t say I’m that surprised,” Mike said.  I had to agree, given what he’d been in on.  Nobody who didn’t have some kind of checkered past was going to be getting into the Project, was my guess.

“Just watch your backs around him,” Ventner said, when neither of us showed any sign of elaborating.  “I wouldn’t trust him.”

“Oh, don’t worry, Joe,” I said.  “We wouldn’t, either.”

We pretty much crashed out for the rest of the day.  Even the dozing on the ride up to the rendezvous hadn’t been close to enough.  My room had a shower that actually worked, and I luxuriated in the longest shower I’d had in months, albeit with my kit and rifle within an arm’s length right outside the shower stall.

Ventner had
pretty much taken over security for the Embassy compound.  While technically, the State RSO was in charge, with the Marine Detachment Commander and WPPS Site Lead under her, Ventner’s sheer force of personality had effectively swept the established structure aside, and he’d set out making things work his way.  I’d heard that the RSO tried to throw her weight around with him once.  The rumor was she’d exited her own office in tears.  I was sure it was an exaggeration, but I wouldn’t put it past Joe.  He was a force of nature when he was sure of himself.

He had the Stahl contractors manning the posts that
the Marines didn’t have the personnel to cover, while the Ventner Dynamics contractors were rovers and Quick Reaction Force.  All told, there were now about two hundred security contractors on the compound.  We would almost be superfluous, if it wasn’t for the primary mission, which of course nobody else was supposed to know about...

The next day, after almost twelve hours of sleep, that still didn’t feel all that restful thanks to the extremely disturbing dreams that were increasingly haunting what
little sleep I got, I met with Ventner, Mike, and Toran, the Stahl team lead, in Ventner’s office, which had apparently been some functionary’s little kingdom in the head-shed.  We’d gotten some looks when we walked into the building, which looked less like the center of a besieged outpost in increasingly hostile territory and more like a well-appointed office building.  No one seemed to recognize us, though, which I counted as a good thing.  I didn’t see Collins, although I expected we weren’t going to fly under his radar for long.

The office had large windows looking out on the compound, and, since it was on the third floor, the Tigris.  A brief examination revealed that the windows were ordinary glass.  I could only shake my head.  Complacency seemed to have become the default setting here.  I was a little surprised Ventner had set up in a spot like this, but I realized that it was a combination of sending the right message, and confidence that there wasn’t anybody who could draw a bead on that window who could likely hit it.
  Considering that the nearest firing position I could see had to be about seven hundred meters away, and what I’d seen of Iraqi marksmanship, that confidence probably wasn’t entirely misplaced.  Even so…

He had overhead imagery of the city laid out on his desk, and the walls were positively papered with photos of the Embassy’s surroundings.  Any possible
avenue of approach had been photographed from multiple angles, and notes were scribbled on all of them.  Ventner was a thorough son of a bitch.

“Okay, gents,
” he began, “I just wanted to have a little get-together, since not everybody’s met everybody else, to my knowledge.  Jeff and Mike here are the team leads for our new augments; they might be a little late to the party, but given how things are going, I’m not going to object to more help.

“
Drew,” he said to Toran, “I’m going to keep your guys on perimeter security for now.  My boys are going to keep moving the next two groups to the airport tomorrow, as scheduled.  Jeff, I’ve got something for you guys that’s a little more up your alley.”

Toran shot me a glance.  We’d never done any work with Stahl, but I’d met Toran a few years ago.  He was an old MARSOC hand; he’d gotten out as a Gunny before going private sector.  I was fairly certain he’d at least heard something of our reputation.

“We haven’t been able to do much route reconnaissance since we got here,” Ventner said.  “We’ve been too busy plugging the security holes here on the compound, and moving back and forth from the airport.  Now, you know me; I’m not a terribly optimistic son of a bitch.  I’m not confident that we won’t eventually get cut off from the airport—whether Abu Bakr decides he doesn’t want to play anymore or ISIS or JAI manages to cut off the roads.  So what I need you guys to do is get out on some familiarization runs, and find us some alternate routes out, whether they’re by the river or overland.  Try to map out the faction boundaries as best you can, but I don’t need to tell you that you really need to avoid contact.”

I nodded.  That was a no-shitter.  “The more routes you can find, the better,” he added.  “
If we lose the airport, a small footprint is the only way we’re going to get the rest of the Embassy out of this city without getting hit.”

I thought he was being
overly optimistic; there was no way we were going to get everybody out without
something
going wrong.  There were just too many moving parts.

However, Ventner had just given us the freedom of movement to pursue our other objectives, a consideration I was increasingly sure he
was well aware of.  Whether he had simply decided to help out, or if Renton had talked to him I didn’t know.  It ultimately didn’t matter.  We had our opening, and I intended to take full advantage of it.

Three hours later, my team was rolling out the Red Gate in a trio of up-armored HiLuxes.    They looked just like the everyday trucks on the streets outside, but were considerably heavier and had a pretty extensive comm suite built into them.  I’d been more inclined to take the off-the-street beaters we’d come in on, but Ventner had insisted.  I knew how to pick my battles, so we took the State vehicles.

We moved up Az Zaytun Street, past the towering crossed scimitars of the Arch of Victory and the
lush greenery of Al Zawra Park.  The carnival in the park looked abandoned.  At the four-way intersection, centered on a fountain, at the end, we split, the three vehicles going their separate ways.  If anyone had noted the convoy earlier, hopefully it just looked like three normal vehicles going about their business that had just happened by chance to be going the same way for a short distance.

There were four of us in the truck; Marcus was driving, in spite of the hole in his leg, Bryan was in the back with Black, and I was in the
front passenger seat.  All of us, even Black, had rifles against the doors, covered by jackets or shirts, and belt kits also covered by loose clothing.  I was hoping to avoid a fight, but I’d be damned before I went out without enough firepower to win one.

As we tried to blend into the traffic along Dimashq Street,
Black broke the silence from the back seat.  “Can I ask what we’re doing, now?” he asked.

I turned in my seat to look back at him.  “We’re looking for more of your compadres,” I explained.

He looked a little nonplused, looking back and forth between me and Bryan.  “Really?” he temporized.  I could see the wheels turning.  He still didn’t know exactly where he stood or what lay in store for him with us.  He was trying to go along to get along, as near as I could tell.  Still, I was no closer to being sure of his motives or intentions than he was of ours.

Neither of us said anything more, at first.  “I’ll tell you up-front,” he said, “I might not be all that much help here.  I was only in Baghdad for a couple of days before I got moved down to the Nasiriyah
safe house.  I might be able to recognize one or two Project operators, but the cells here are outside my experience.”