Part 53 (1/2)

”None of your business.”

”Typical lawyer. All take, no give.”

We did not seem to be bonding, so I took a swing in the dark that wasn't entirely from the dark. ”The cell you referred to was an exploitation unit. She was on the receiving end of CIA messages that pinpointed Iranian movements and activities inside Iraq. Her job was to translate those tips into operational requirements and targets, to look for ways to exploit those insights.”

He turned and stared at me a moment. He said, ”Why did you ask?”

”Confirmation,” I replied--and now I had confirmation. ”Old trick. We often use throwaway questions to ascertain the veracity of our witness.”

”How am I doing?”

”Not good, Kemp. Not good at all.” I asked, ”How long was she in that job?”

”Can't really say. She was already on the staff when I arrived.”

Bulls.h.i.+t. ”Colonel, I can just as easily obtain this information from her personnel file.” ”Colonel, I can just as easily obtain this information from her personnel file.”

”Fine. Why don't you do just that?”

I ignored his suggestion and said, ”Correct me if I'm wrong. She was the operations officer of an MP battalion during the invasion, then she remained in that a.s.signment a few months after Baghdad fell, then was rea.s.signed here, to G2.”

”More like five months in her battalion. It was the G2 himself who pulled her up, if you're interested.” He explained, ”General Bent-son heard she was fluent in Arabic, had operational experience, and she had a great rep. She cleaned up a very violent section of Baghdad at a time when the rest of city was descending into chaos. Great credentials.”

”But as an MP.”

”And she had a secondary specialty in military intelligence. Look . . . frankly--I hope this doesn't alarm you--most of us full-time MI types, we don't know squat about this place, about these people, or about this kind of war.” He continued, ”Myself, I'm a satellite interpretation guy and this terrestrial stuff is a whole new world.” He enjoyed his own bad pun and chuckled. He then added, ”My first months in country, I felt like I was just dropped into Oz--just no happy, dancing little munchkins, and in this case, the Wizard's a homicidal a.s.shole.” she had a secondary specialty in military intelligence. Look . . . frankly--I hope this doesn't alarm you--most of us full-time MI types, we don't know squat about this place, about these people, or about this kind of war.” He continued, ”Myself, I'm a satellite interpretation guy and this terrestrial stuff is a whole new world.” He enjoyed his own bad pun and chuckled. He then added, ”My first months in country, I felt like I was just dropped into Oz--just no happy, dancing little munchkins, and in this case, the Wizard's a homicidal a.s.shole.”

This jogged something in my mind, and I asked, ”So you would say the major was professionally competent?”

”I would say she was incredible . . . extraordinary . . . insert whatever superlative you like. She's a cop and she's military intelligence-- she was the perfect perfect combination.” combination.”

”And there's no personal bias in your a.s.sessment?”

”Maybe.” He thought about it a few seconds, then said, ”Terrorism, if you think about it, is closer to crime than war. Typical intel officers can talk for hours about how an Iraqi division arrays itself on the battlefield, and they stare blankly if asked to explain how an insurgent cell infiltrates a city, chooses its targets, and operates.” He paused then added, with clear admiration, ”Bian knew this stuff. She had . . . a sense . . . an intuition for situations. A hunter's instinct, I guess you'd call it. Every morning, a long line formed in front of her carrel, guys like me, seeking advice.”

”Plus, she was hot.”

”Well . . . yeah . . .” He laughed. ”Get at the end of that line, though, and it could be ten, eleven o'clock before you got a minute with her.”

We walked in silence for a few moments among the buildings of the Green Zone. Something wasn't adding up. Well, actually a lot wasn't adding up, but what exactly? Everything Kemp Chester said had confirmed my own high estimation of Bian Tran: an impressive officer, bright, resourceful, courageous, and . . . yes, hot. But if I looked back critically over the course of the investigation Bian and I had conducted, nothing she had said, done, or ever advised had been particularly insightful, illuminating, or to borrow Kemp Chester's more elevated adjective, intuitive intuitive. I had ascribed this to her professional limitations as an MP officer--more overseer than sleuth. But if Kemp was right, it was time to consider another cause. Because in those rare instances where the hunter also happens to be the hunted, there's a big conflict of interest.

I recalled as well, how eager, how insistent Bian was to come here, to Iraq, in pursuit of bin Pacha and Charabi. Well, this was her her war, I had reasoned. She was thinking with her heart instead of her head. In fact, that might still be on the mark, but I now had to consider that her motives were more complicated and darker than I had imagined. Because, not incidentally, coming here also diverted us from finding Clifford Daniels's murderer. war, I had reasoned. She was thinking with her heart instead of her head. In fact, that might still be on the mark, but I now had to consider that her motives were more complicated and darker than I had imagined. Because, not incidentally, coming here also diverted us from finding Clifford Daniels's murderer.

Nor, so far, had Kemp Chester contradicted anything Bian herself had told me. There were, however, those troubling things she hadn't said. Like having been part of the G2 exploitation cell. Possibly it was a matter of her secrecy vows. This might sound redundant, but military intelligence people and secrecy are like Donald Trump with narcissistic bulls.h.i.+t; you can't believe how far they take it. But no matter how much benefit of the doubt I gave her, even I had trouble with that one.

And, of course, there was Mark Kemble. Poor, dead Mark Kemble. Why had Bian lied about that? Why keep it hidden? Also, if her two days in Baghdad were not spent in Mark's company, what had she been doing? And more to the point, why lie about that?

I must've reflected too long, because Kemp Chester was engaged in his own reflections and asked, ”Hey, what the h.e.l.l does this have to do with a 15-6? Isn't this supposed to be about an officer's credibility and judgment? What's going on here?”

I took a moment and sized him up, as I would any witness on the stand. A good guy, levelheaded, articulate, smart. But clearly he felt a strong affection for Bian, which I understood, because, like nearly any man who met her, I was at least half in love with her. He was trying to be protective, which raises the ever-provocative question of why he felt Bian needed needed protection. As they say, where there's smoke, there's fire. Not always, but when smoke's being blown up your b.u.t.t, you'd better be sure. protection. As they say, where there's smoke, there's fire. Not always, but when smoke's being blown up your b.u.t.t, you'd better be sure.

On one hand, I admired and appreciated his loyalty to Bian, and I liked him for it. The occasion, however, called for the other hand, and I gave him a hard stare and asked, ”Have I told you how to do your job?”

”No, but--”

”Because I would really f.u.c.king appreciate it if you reciprocated that professional courtesy.” I allowed him a moment to contemplate the s.h.i.+ft in the tenor of our conversation. I said, ”Maybe I've made this too friendly, too informal. Maybe we should reconvene to an interrogation cell at the MP station.”

”Okay, okay. Relax . . .”

I now knew what was really bothering me, and asked, ”When Bian was rea.s.signed from her battalion to the corps staff, it was supposed to be for a full year--right?”

”I have no idea.”

”You're really starting to p.i.s.s me off.”

”Uh . . . okay, a full year. Her fiance had just begun his one-year tour in Iraq. Bian wanted to stay for the duration of his tour.”

”But she rotated stateside after what . . . six, seven, eight months?”

”Yeah . . . maybe.”

I offered him another cold stare and he quickly amended his statement. ”About seven and a half months . . . She got an early drop. Why is this important?”

”Why was it curtailed?”

Kemp now looked restive and a little unhappy. He said, ”Why don't you ask her former boss? Bian and I were friends, and . . . Look, you're making me very uncomfortable.”

”And you well know that the personal comfort or discomfort of a professional officer is irrelevant. I asked you a question. Answer it.”

”Because . . . well, because it was . . . a hards.h.i.+p transfer. Because her fiance, he died . . . here in Iraq. His death was very rough on her.” He added after a moment, ”The general was sympathetic. He personally intervened to arrange a transfer stateside.”

I gave it a moment, then said, ”Kemp, because this is the Army, I don't have to swear you in or read you your rights, or any of that nonsense. I'm an officer of the court pursuing an official investigation. Lying, quibbling, or misleading statements can and will result in charges. Don't make things any worse for yourself.”

Kemp started to say something, and I cut him off. ”We're now on the record. Are we clear?”

He stared at me a long time.

I said, ”According to the manual, Army criteria for hards.h.i.+p transfers and discharges pertain only to deaths in the immediate immediate family. Reconsider your reply.” family. Reconsider your reply.”

It looked like he was giving himself a root ca.n.a.l, but he said, ”It was . . . just a situational transfer. After her fiance's death . . . she . . . she went to pieces. She took it very, very hard.”

This still didn't sound like the Army I know and love. Unhappy or mentally depressed soldiers, ordinarily, are sent to the unit chaplain, or in these more Zen-like times, to a unit counselor, they get their ”give-a-s.h.i.+t” ticket punched, and are returned to duty. In extreme cases, the soldier can be awarded a thirty-day leave for mental convalescence--i.e., a month to drink and screw him/herself silly-- which typically fixes the mood rings of most soldiers. If neither of these tried-and-true methods fails to produce a mentally stable soldier who is willing and able to kill at the drop of a hat, next step is a discharge--not a transfer--and their issues become the problems of the VA--the Veterans Administration.

Clearly, my threats and cajolements weren't doing the trick. As somebody knowing once said, stupidity is trying the same thing over and over and watching it not work. What I needed was a new approach, i.e., a bigger lie. I informed him, ”I don't understand why you're being antagonistic. Bian Tran is a witness for for the Army. I am not her enemy.” the Army. I am not her enemy.”

He seemed to weigh this.