"On first blush, Drummond . . . yes, sure . . . I might agree with you. A duplicitous liar for a pathological mass murderer. Sure. Why not?"
"That's what I asked you--why not?"
"I ran his background and he wasn't . . . credible."
Credible, for most people, concerns integrity and trustworthiness; these people, however, play by different rules, and more often it's about whether they can get a grip on his short hairs.
Having not spent time with Agency types, however, Bian found this concept elusive and asked, "Can you explain that?"
"Well . . . why do you think he fled Iraq in the first place?"
"The newspapers said--"
"I know what the media reported. He experienced some political squabble with Saddam and was forced to flee for his survival. Where do you think they obtained that story, Major?"
"I see. Then what did Charabi forget to include?"
"Charabi was a banker in those years. A midlevel account executive at the Iraqi national bank. A virtual nobody"--he smiled--"for Saddam, a nonentity. The man and his views were irrelevant."
"But Saddam later went through a lot of trouble to have him murdered. There had to be something."
"Over three million Iraqis went into exile during Saddam's rule. Many of these people were politically opposed to Saddam. He would've run out of bullets if he tried to kill all of them." He stared at Bian. "When he went to that much trouble, the motive was always personal."
"I see."
"But you still haven't guessed, have you?" He gave us both one of those triumphant, I-know-something-you-don't little grins and said, "Charabi was an embezzler. He moved about twenty million dollars from one of Saddam's personal accounts to his own personal account in Switzerland. It had nothing to do with politics." He added, "It was, for Saddam, a matter of personal honor, of principle."
Bian remarked, "That principle being that Saddam could loot billions from his own people, and they couldn't steal it back."
Don laughed and awarded her a wink. "Hey, I like that." He said, "Here's another insight I think you'll find fascinating. After the invasion, we found, inside Saddam's palaces, dozens of copies of The Godfather videos." He added, "It seems Saddam perceived himself as a godfather figure--that formed his self-image, and that inspired his style of leadership. Pathetic, isn't it? Life imitating art."
This was interesting; also, it was irrelevant. Returning to the topic, I said, "So you told Charabi you weren't interested. What happened next?"
"You never say no in this business. I just let it hang when I left." He stared at me a moment. "But Cliff Daniels, while still on the Iraq desk at DIA, also attended that meeting."
"I'll bite. Why?"
"There is, inevitably, something of a rivalry between our two agencies for good sources. As first among equals, we generally get first pick. Sometimes," he added, smiling, "sources we don't want end up in the arms of our friends across the river. Sloppy seconds."
On a hunch, I asked Don, "Did your shrink friend also assess Daniels?"
He paused, then said, "In fact, he did." It appeared to amuse him that I would pick up on this. He looked at Bian and said, "Pardon my French, it was in the nature of a sport fuck for him. You know how weird those guys are."
Don winked at Bian and with a sort of mocking smile turned back to me and, regarding that assessment, asked, "What do you think?"
I thought Don needed ten pounds of saltpeter pumped up a catheter. But I recalled everything I knew about Daniels, his life background, Theresa's description of their marriage and their life together, his e-mails to his ex, and those to Charabi. "A classic passive-aggressive personality. Right?"
He seemed at first irritated by my guess, but eventually said, "Well, I suppose he's not that difficult to figure out." Up yours, Don. "In fact," he continued, "Cliff was one of those people who stank of ambition and frustration. He kept trying to impress Charabi--dropping hints about his own importance, his own brilliance, his ability to make things happen."
He turned once again to Bian and asked, "What do you get when you put a passive-aggressive in the same room with a manipulative narcissist?"
Bian replied, "A marriage made in hell."
Again, he laughed. Don had his own metaphors, however, and said, "It was like watching a leech attach itself. You know? Daniels was an accident waiting in the wings, and Charabi a hundred-car pileup in search of a busy intersection."