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“It’s what I do now,” I pointed out. “It’s what you did in Afghanistan.”
“I killed terrorists, bro.” He was no longer cheerful.
“You killed whoever the military told you to kill,” I said, then realized I was basically just parroting Alistair.
“I killed people who were shooting at me, dude,” Gunnar said with a slight scowl. “Are the people you kill gonna be shooting back?”
“If Command told us to take out the leader of a Taliban cell without anybody knowing we were there, and nobody was shooting at us – would you do it?”
Gunnar grumbled a little. “Are you gonna kill bad guys, at least?”
“Of course. Arms dealers, terrorists, organized crime figures – ”
“I kinda work for an arms dealer, dude.”
“Rogue arms dealers.”
“Kind of depends on who’s defining the ‘rogue’ part…” Gunnar muttered.
“Which is why I want more information on this Alistair guy. I need to know what I’m getting myself into – without him knowing about it.”
“Alright. Let me see what my homies in MI6 can tell us.”
“Gunnar – ”
“On the down-low, yes, yes,” he said, his voice finally becoming cheerful again as he turned back to his keyboard. “Calm down, Grandma. It’s gonna be fine.”
67
Isat in the recliner, drank a couple of beers, and tried to keep my nervousness under control as Gunnar talked to his network. Entrusting my safety to a bunch of strangers was not in my nature – especially pothead strangers.
Plus, I really didn’t want to antagonize the man who’d gotten me out of the military two years early. If Alistair found out about my snooping, there was always the chance he could stick me right back where he’d found me – with a brand-new deployment to Afghanistan.
Or he might just have me killed.
That was a joke.
Or at least, I hoped it was a joke.
But I didn’t have much of a choice. I had to know what I was dealing with.
After 15 minutes of banging away on his keyboard, Gunnar stopped typing. “Hmm.”
“‘Hmm,’ what?” I asked, leaning forward in the recliner. “What does ‘hmm’ mean?”
“Is this your guy?”
Gunnar rolled his chair aside, revealing an official-looking picture of Alistair. Underneath were the words, ‘Assistant Director of Operations – Europe Division.’
That certainly sounded like the title of someone who could get you out of military service.
“That’s him,” I confirmed.
“That’s from internal records at MI6. My homies came through,” Gunnar said proudly.
“Why couldn’t I find anything about him online?”
“I asked about that. Apparently, you stay in the shadows at MI6 until they absolutely have to out you. Like once you start working with politicians ‘n shit.”
