cover up for him. Three years ago, a convoy carrying American and European democracy activists was ambushed in Baghdad. Twenty people obliterated with a nasty little improvised explosive.”
Blackwell traveled back to 2008. Even if the incident had resonated globally, he had missed it. He didn ’ t have a radio or a television back then, let alone a desire to read newspapers.
Nishimura explained how Exertify had been hired by a group called GDI—the Global Democracy Institute—to protect their staff in the green zone. According to the leaked cable, Iraqi intelligence revealed that a few months before the attack, Exertify decided to terminate the contract of the thoroughly vetted Scottish driver assigned to GDI. They replaced him with a cheaper local hire, who was eventually infiltrated by Al Qaeda. The cable implied the Americans and the Iraqis colluded to protect Exertify from negligence, and to write off the attack as just another day in Baghdad.
“I don ’ t get why this implicates William Price.”
“Listen to this. The US ambassador to Iraq, speaking at the meeting in 2008 from which the cable was drafted.” Nishimura played an audio recording of a male voice with a Texan accent.
“ Senator Bill will be grateful if you don ’ t hang his brother and Exertify out to dry. Do him this favor and he ’ ll play his part in the Senate to push hard for the Iraq stimulus package that ’ s up for renewal .”
It didn ’ t take a genius to figure out who “Senator Bill” was.
But Blackwell was still skeptical.
“It ’ s hearsay. Diplomatic rambling. Or even WikiLeaks inventing shit. Who ’ s to say? I ’ m assuming this recording is still classified and it ’ s just the leaked cable that ’ s in the public domain?”
Nishimura put his remote on the table, sat down and flashed a naughty smile to Robert slant. “That ’ s right. The audio is courtesy of our friends at Langley.”
Slant raised his hand once again to interject, but this time didn ’ t wait for Monica ’ s approval before he started to speak.
“It ’ s beside the point, Alex. For a guy like Price who ’ s not shy about his ambitions to grab the Republican VP nomination in 2012, hearsay ’ s just as harmful”
“Harmful?”
“As harmful as a red-hot vote to expel him from the Senate, some would argue.”
EIGHT
Saturday, November 5, 2011—8:01 p.m.
Manhattan, NY
W ith his Clupster headset wrapped around his ears, Blackwell rotated his neck, raised and lowered his shoulders, and willed his body to relax in his chair. He closed his eyes and attempted to negotiate a truce with his nerves. But he failed. His heart was all over the place and a familiar anxiety took hold of him. Sweat was escaping from every pore in his body, in defiance of his brain ’ s feeble attempts to keep the rest of his machinery at ease. He ’ d never been this edgy ahead of a hostage negotiation.
The last time he was anywhere near this apprehensive was in a doctor ’ s office in Boston with his mother, years before he joined the FBI. He had tried to be cheerful to keep her spirits up, but he knew right away from the oncologist ’ s eyes when he came out to get them that the news was bad. The cancer had returned.
But his mother was determined to beat the damn thing. And she fought hard and won honorably. In the end, it wasn ’ t the cancer that took her life. She died on her own terms. His mother was the source of his strength. Through her Blackwell was able to see the best in humanity w hen his job only exposed him to the worst of it. He missed her.
Monica must have sensed his plummeting confidence. She stood behind him and caressed his arms gently. An unexpected gesture. But it snapped him out of his downward spiral. She whispered in his ears the same thing his mother used to tell him ahead of any prickly obstacle, “You can do this, Alex.”
Thoughts of the death toll from Hermosa Beach were replaced by all the lives he had saved during the
Blackwell traveled back to 2008. Even if the incident had resonated globally, he had missed it. He didn ’ t have a radio or a television back then, let alone a desire to read newspapers.
Nishimura explained how Exertify had been hired by a group called GDI—the Global Democracy Institute—to protect their staff in the green zone. According to the leaked cable, Iraqi intelligence revealed that a few months before the attack, Exertify decided to terminate the contract of the thoroughly vetted Scottish driver assigned to GDI. They replaced him with a cheaper local hire, who was eventually infiltrated by Al Qaeda. The cable implied the Americans and the Iraqis colluded to protect Exertify from negligence, and to write off the attack as just another day in Baghdad.
“I don ’ t get why this implicates William Price.”
“Listen to this. The US ambassador to Iraq, speaking at the meeting in 2008 from which the cable was drafted.” Nishimura played an audio recording of a male voice with a Texan accent.
“ Senator Bill will be grateful if you don ’ t hang his brother and Exertify out to dry. Do him this favor and he ’ ll play his part in the Senate to push hard for the Iraq stimulus package that ’ s up for renewal .”
It didn ’ t take a genius to figure out who “Senator Bill” was.
But Blackwell was still skeptical.
“It ’ s hearsay. Diplomatic rambling. Or even WikiLeaks inventing shit. Who ’ s to say? I ’ m assuming this recording is still classified and it ’ s just the leaked cable that ’ s in the public domain?”
Nishimura put his remote on the table, sat down and flashed a naughty smile to Robert slant. “That ’ s right. The audio is courtesy of our friends at Langley.”
Slant raised his hand once again to interject, but this time didn ’ t wait for Monica ’ s approval before he started to speak.
“It ’ s beside the point, Alex. For a guy like Price who ’ s not shy about his ambitions to grab the Republican VP nomination in 2012, hearsay ’ s just as harmful”
“Harmful?”
“As harmful as a red-hot vote to expel him from the Senate, some would argue.”
EIGHT
Saturday, November 5, 2011—8:01 p.m.
Manhattan, NY
W ith his Clupster headset wrapped around his ears, Blackwell rotated his neck, raised and lowered his shoulders, and willed his body to relax in his chair. He closed his eyes and attempted to negotiate a truce with his nerves. But he failed. His heart was all over the place and a familiar anxiety took hold of him. Sweat was escaping from every pore in his body, in defiance of his brain ’ s feeble attempts to keep the rest of his machinery at ease. He ’ d never been this edgy ahead of a hostage negotiation.
The last time he was anywhere near this apprehensive was in a doctor ’ s office in Boston with his mother, years before he joined the FBI. He had tried to be cheerful to keep her spirits up, but he knew right away from the oncologist ’ s eyes when he came out to get them that the news was bad. The cancer had returned.
But his mother was determined to beat the damn thing. And she fought hard and won honorably. In the end, it wasn ’ t the cancer that took her life. She died on her own terms. His mother was the source of his strength. Through her Blackwell was able to see the best in humanity w hen his job only exposed him to the worst of it. He missed her.
Monica must have sensed his plummeting confidence. She stood behind him and caressed his arms gently. An unexpected gesture. But it snapped him out of his downward spiral. She whispered in his ears the same thing his mother used to tell him ahead of any prickly obstacle, “You can do this, Alex.”
Thoughts of the death toll from Hermosa Beach were replaced by all the lives he had saved during the
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