by Dale Amidei
“Colby,” he answered. A pleasant female voice was on the other end.
“Mr. Colby, good morning. This is Helen.”
“Morning, Helen. What can we do for the Ambassador?” Colby looked with longing at his coffee machine. Unlike the Ambassador, he made it himself first thing in the morning, and he had not gotten that far.
“I’ve been asked to have you come up. Apparently, there were some overnight cables. People will be coming in this morning for an update.”
Colby wanted to sigh but restrained himself from blowing into the phone. An oh-eight-hundred meeting meant something, and usually it was that uniforms would be involved. “I’m on my way up, Helen. Thank you.”
“I will let the Ambassador know. We will see you momentarily.”
Colby cradled his phone more gently than he might have otherwise. He redid his shirt button and drew his tie, grabbing his jacket on the way back out his door. Bernie Schuster was just coming in as he emerged, and Colby saw that he had brought his coffee with him, the lucky bastard.
“Eight AM meeting with the Ambassador, Bern. Let’s go. Sorry.”
Schuster grimaced and made a graceful U-turn to follow his boss. “Well, shit. Good morning, Tom.”
Colby sighed. “We’ll see. I’m guessing not.”
Trotting up two flights of the stairwell, they emerged just off the reception area; Helen directed them to the large meeting room. Just as she had indicated, it was a suit convention. Some senior military people were also present including, Colby noted with surprise, COMGEN MNF-I and his staff. Colby could see this included Lieutenant General Peter McAllen.
Schuster, Colby could tell, was holding back an expletive. They grabbed two chairs along the wall, trying hard to be inconspicuous as management continued to drift in from elsewhere in the Embassy and other nearby outbuildings. It was ten after eight when the Ambassador began to speak.
“Good morning, ladies and gentlemen. Thank you for being this responsive so early in the morning. The reasons that we have called you together are, of course, the terrible events of this past Sunday. The Secretary, apparently yesterday, had unresolved questions that she has asked us to address in light of a direct attack on and a number of injuries sustained by State Department personnel. As of late yesterday, we are to hold all current initiatives for review.”
A stir and low side-talk buzzed. Colby noticed with discomfort that some looks were directed his way. Schuster sipped his coffee. His hand may have trembled, Colby thought.
The Ambassador continued. “The security contract with Blackwater USA is undergoing scrutiny, for reasons that you understand. Therefore, travel into the Red Zone, although we do not know how long this might continue, will until further notice require military escort. The logistics of this we will be working out this morning to free the General to his many other duties.”
COMGEN MNF-I nodded, whispering to his aide. The Ambassador went on. “If you would, as it seems that we will have at least a day or two of downtime, please have your staffs ready a current synopsis of each of your individual projects for review. Particularly, we are requesting to see a list of any nongovernmental contacts within the scope of your operations, as the subject seems to have been the genesis of several inquiries to stateside senior leadership yesterday. I’m sure that you realize the lingering effects of the recent Dubai Ports World controversy. The Department leadership certainly does, and I believe it is one of the considerations that has led to the cable sent last night.”
The volume of conversation in the room increased. For most attendees in the room, the daily schedule had just changed. Colby’s mind was whirling, and a headache was forming there. It was not yet 8:30.
“If I could have your reports by the close of business Thursday, please, I would appreciate it. I know that you have many things to do at this point. Thank you for coming,” the Ambassador said, dismissing them. Colby and Schuster stood, relieved. The feeling lasted two seconds.
The Ambassador raised a finger. “Ah, Mr. Colby, Mr. Schuster, could you stay for a moment please?”
“Oh boy,” Schuster muttered. Colby stifled an urge to scream. The room took what seemed an eternity to empty while they stood against the wall. One of the Ambassador’s aides closed the door when the last of the executives had exited.
“Please have a seat, gentlemen,” the Ambassador said.
Colby and Schuster moved closer to the head of the table. It felt to Colby like being in the principal’s office again, with the entire school board there this time.
The Ambassador tried to put them at ease. “Tom, Bernie, thank you. I wanted just a brief word because your situation has an additional component that we are forced to address.”
Colby cleared his throat. “What would that be, sir?”
The answer came from COMGEN MNF-I. “Mr. Colby, I am required by my guidelines to give you notice that your initiative is under additional review to determine whether we will classify it as Psychological Operations, as one of my staff has recommended. We expect to make this determination within the timetable that you have been given to assemble your report. I do apologize, and we do appreciate what this could mean to your efforts thus far.”
The Ambassador jumped in. “We are gathering as much an overview of current operations as we can, Tom. It’s merely a component of the broader request from Washington. Please do not become overly alarmed.”
Colby nodded. “I realize that the events of Sunday caused a great deal of concern, gentlemen. It was frankly quite an experience. Though it may be easier to see from our perspective, it may have actually advanced us toward the goals of my team, which I believe to be well worth pursuing in the sense of our national interest here. We will do everything that we can to make that clear in our report.”
COMGEN MNF-I was impossible to read. The Ambassador looked pleased. “We know that you will, Tom. I do look forward to seeing it. Now, if you will excuse us, we need to move on to our other business to be considerate of the General’s time.”
“Of course we understand, Mr. Ambassador. General, I thank you for your time, sir.” Colby and Schuster moved toward the door. Colby noticed that General McAllen, at the periphery, continued to regard them longer than had the other officers in the room and had given them a nod as they were exiting. He wondered at that for a moment, and then they were out into the hall and on the way back downstairs where the work to salvage their initiative would begin in earnest.
Two hours later when McAllen appeared from the same stairwell that Colby and Schuster had used earlier in the morning, the General Officer’s uniform caused a stir. One did not sneak unnoticed through a civilian office in dress greens, not when they were as adorned as McAllen’s. He headed to Colby’s office where Colby and Schuster huddled after informing their people about the urgency of the report that the Ambassador had requested. McAllen knocked on the doorjamb, casually gripping a ceramic mug of coffee. He grinned, mostly to put them at ease but also at the looks on their faces.
“Gentlemen, forgive the intrusion. I was wondering if y’all could spare a moment,” he said.
Colby rose from his desk, Schuster from his chair. “Certainly we can, sir. It’s good to see you again. Please have a seat.”
Colby extended his hand, which McAllen pumped. He settled into a chair, glancing at the door. Schuster closed it on cue.
“Mr. Colby, I don’t think anyone has to tell you the stir that your project has kicked up. I thought I’d stop by and give my perspective, if you’re interested.”
Colby leaned in. “Your perspective is always welcome, General.”
“Glad to hear it. Your initiative is going to be classified PsyOps if for no other reason than to shut up a fat little son of a bitch you met once, who somehow managed to work his way into the theater command structure—but that’s another story. This means that it’s going to fall under the purview of military command under National Security Council guidelines. Justified or not, my read is that it’s going to happen.” Th
e General paused for a sip of his coffee to let his words sink in.
Schuster's disposition turned morose. “Then we’re sunk?”
McAllen shook his head. “Not necessarily, gentlemen. I could be wrong; it happened once. But I don’t think I am, and it means that if your work out in the Province is going to continue, it’s going to require military oversight. I may have the least painful solution toward satisfying that requirement.”
Colby sat back, frowning, McAllen noted. No one liked their turf infringed.
“What would that be, sir?” Colby asked.
McAllen shrugged. “The last thing you folks are gonna need is another coach in the game. On the other hand, the opposing force has already made it pretty damn clear that they will be targeting your initiative. I propose a second layer of security, gentlemen, integrated into your team. He’s officer rank and could fulfill the regulatory requirement of oversight. His main utility, though, I believe would be in the security role. He’s better at that than just about anyone I could offer you.”
Colby was thinking it through, McAllen could see. He expected Colby's next question.
“What’s in it for you, sir?”
“That son of a bitch that sent the car bomb after you, Mr. Colby, my man wants to get close to him. He wants that in a special way.” McAllen grinned.
“You think he’s going to try again, don’t you.”
McAllen shrugged once more. “He will, but only if you try again, Mr. Colby. If you don’t, the bastard wins. That's the same choice that we all have here.”
He saw Colby and Schuster exchange glances. “As I said, gentlemen, I could be wrong. If I’m not wrong, the offer stays open.”
McAllen stood, and Colby and Schuster followed. The General handed Colby a largely blank business card that bore only his contact numbers. “If you should need me, do please call. We could help one other. Good day, gentlemen.”
“And to you, sir, thank you,” Colby said as he took the card.
McAllen nodded to Schuster and headed for the stairwell again. Yes, I could be wrong, and big armored battle monkeys could fly out of my ass before lunch too.
Chapter 13: Off the Record
“Tom! It’s good to hear from you.” The voice on the phone was that of the Assistant Secretary; Colby had stayed in his office into the Baghdad dinner hour to catch her at her desk after the morning meetings eight hours behind in Washington.
Colby had reached her admin assistant first and waited for fifteen minutes on hold after that, making sure that this conversation could take place. “Thank you. I appreciate you finding a couple minutes, ma’am.”
“Nonsense. I was hoping that you would call. You’ve run into some difficulties I understand. I was so glad to hear that all our people are going to be fine.”
“Yes, ma’am, they will. It’s on their behalf, all of them, that I’m calling, I guess.”
“How so, Tom?”
Colby sighed. “I’ve got it on pretty good authority that our Anbar initiative is going to be classified as a psychological operation by the military command here. That would put us under their authority if we’re going to continue.”
For a moment ASECNEA was silent. He could almost see her, thinking in the accelerated fashion that she did, with her oversized coffee cup.
“I’d rather not see that. I don’t like my people to have a confused org chart. Do you need me to make some calls?”
“I think that aspect is out of our hands, ma’am. It sounds like a done deal as far as the Commanding General’s staff is concerned. There’s another guy here though, General McAllen—military intelligence type—who says he might have a way out for us. I wanted to get your opinion before I commit to anything.”
“What’s his solution?” she asked.
“Satisfy the technicality by putting us under one of his staff who would embed into the team and look out for us in case something bad would happen again.” Colby hesitated, and ASECNEA noticed.
“What else, Tom?”
Colby thought for a moment about his phrasing. “I believe he sees it as an opportunity to draw out the man whose organization attacked us at the airport.”
ASECNEA made an enlightened noise. “Ah. You’re cheese for a rat.”
“I’d hate to put it that way. General McAllen said it was a way that we could help one other. But that’s the result.”
Another pause. “We’ll see. If the man is right, it may be the only way to continue your initiative in any case. The mood here is unsettled, Tom. I understand that there’s talk that the hold may extend into the summer, and we know what the summers are like over there. We’re not privy to review of military command operations, so if we take advantage of technicalities as well, your initiative would legally escape Department oversight.”
Colby rubbed his eyes. “That would cut us off from our Department support structure also, wouldn’t it?”
“It’s a bad call to have to make, but I’m making it your call. You’re closer to the situation than I can be. My advice is to gauge carefully the resources that your General friend can provide then make the decision that you think will bring your people home in one piece.”
Colby thought it through for a few seconds. “We need to keep moving, ma’am. If we’re going to make a difference, we’ll have a better chance now than during the elections, and a lot better chance than afterward.”
“As I said, it’s a bad call to have to make. Even if the classification goes your way, think about taking the man up on his offer. I like the idea of having a security element integrate into the team. You keep your momentum, and your time there doesn’t go to waste. You will have my support. I promise you that.”
“I know I will, ma’am. I do very much appreciate it.”
“Good luck, Tom. Keep me informed. If there’s anything that I can do, don’t hesitate to ask for it.”
“I will. Have a good day, ma’am.”
“And you have a good night. Take care.” ASECNEA severed the connection.
Colby cradled the phone and sat back in his chair. It was a hell of a way to salvage the initiative, and now with the machine of bureaucracy working against him, she was probably right in thinking that it was the only way. He would wait for the word to descend; then, he would do whatever he needed to.
On Wednesday morning, Colby was back in the office, having spent part of the previous night staring out at the full moon through the window of his room at the Al Rasheed. General McAllen had been right, and by 10:00 AM the call came from the Ambassador on the MNF-I ruling. Colby surprised him with the option that McAllen had provided, and a half hour later another call delivered the Ambassador's authorization to proceed. The speed with which it came down also had McAllen’s fingerprints on it, Colby cynically thought, although he told himself that it didn’t matter. His initiative kept forward momentum, he could scrub more detail out of his synopsis to State for the sake of Schuster’s envoys, and he would be able to keep working while people elsewhere in the Embassy were idle. He sent the e-mail that would keep his boss informed, and it was finished.
The tough call was how much to tell the troops; most of them were support staff. Operating under the new structure would necessitate forming a team within the team and concentrating the strategizing within the core group. Colby spent half of the rest of his day thinking that through. Schuster, of course, was indispensable. With his gift of cultural insight, Jon Anthony would also make the cut. Colby needed an interpreter and a backup, slots which two of Schuster’s locals would fill. For the volume of paperwork that any government function demanded, a communication specialist would be necessary. Marilyn Ducas worked with Bernie and was the natural choice. Finally, so they would have an accurate record of any interchange that took place in the Province, Colby required a transcriptionist. He chose Katie Kent, the most personable. That was his core. Carol Addams could manage the rest of the crew and use most of them in her work of improving Iraqi precinct organization. With the continuation of the se
ttling process in the Iraqi parliamentary democracy, such an effort filled a need that could only grow.
He drifted around the office quietly asking each of the unknowing designees to linger when the rest of the staff started to clear out for the evening although he did not provide any details. So it was that once they got far enough past 5:00, his core team members were sitting at their desks, waiting for one another to also leave for the night.
Colby wandered out from his office. “You’re all here, folks. Let’s grab the conference room for a minute.”
He led the way and closed the door behind them. Schuster looked expectant but wasn’t giving anything away.
Colby put his hands in his pockets. “Ladies and gentlemen, we are now off the record, at least as far as the United States Department of State is concerned.”
Jon Anthony cocked his head but remained silent. Colby saw the understandable confusion in their eyes. He continued.
“According to the military command entity here, the Multi-National Force–Iraq, the scope of our Anbar initiative has been classified as Psychological Operations, which due to government guidelines means that we will need to proceed under military authority. Nothing day to day will change although I understand that we will have a new player on board, an officer, who will be the nominal Chief of Operations.”
Schuster spoke up. “Military guy as a placeholder? They have someone who’s going to put up with being a doorstop?”
Shrugging, Colby answered. “He’ll have a security role, second layer. After Sunday, it’s hard to argue that we don’t need him.”
He could see that Schuster didn’t like the idea, but that was the starting point for anything new. It was possible to sell Bernie on ideas that made sense. That sometimes required time.
Colby looked around the conference table. “You guys are the core team. Our operations in the Province, if they happen, will be carried out by you and the people you see here. Our plans are going to be limited by political considerations for the near future. It’s this or nothing. ‘Nothing’ is unacceptable. If you can’t function in this environment, let me know before Friday.”