While it had been thirteen months since “Ahmed” last visited my office, neither Gretchen nor I had forgotten how important it is to apply the protocols that we have developed in order to cope with his truly remarkable aromatic characteristics. Consequently, his was the last appointment on a Friday, allowing, in this instance, an entire three-day Labor Day weekend during which my state-of-the-art office ventilation system could work ceaselessly to remove his truly distinctive, lingering olfactory calling card.
That ventilation system has, in addition to a powerful fresh air intake and indoor air exhaust unit, an additional activated-carbon odor scrubbing module in which I usually keep two filters mounted. In that configuration, it can remove the odor of a Cuban cigar quickly enough to allow for a subsequent consultation with a representative of US Customs in less than an hour. There are slots for up to six such filters, however. So shortly before “Ahmed’s” arrival, I loaded every one with a factory-fresh filter. Gretchen will have to discard all of them first thing when she comes in on Tuesday morning, of course – sealed in air-tight plastic bags.
The outer office was empty, naturally – Gretchen made sure that the previous client’s consultation was scheduled to end thirty minutes prior to “Ahmed’s” – and he’s usually at least forty-five minutes late.
Yesterday, actually, he was over an hour late. Gretchen shut down her workstation and left the office at a quarter to four, thirty minutes before the consultation was scheduled to begin, leaving my office door open so that I could observe “Ahmed” as he entered the reception room. While waiting, I refined a mathematical model for mortgage-backed securities valuation that I’m preparing for the upcoming Federal Housing Finance Agency lawsuit, working with two large dabs of medical examiner’s camphor smeared under my nostrils. At twenty-eight minutes past five, “Ahmed” finally appeared.
As regular readers of this Web log know, I have attempted to adequately describe “Ahmed’s” progressively deteriorating aroma several times before. Well, search for “Ahmed” in the little box up there on the right and read a few posts about him if you haven’t already, because I’m going to admit it, I give up – this time his body odor can only be described as indescribable. Just as I had last time, he was quoted four times my usual rate. Just as he always has, he paid it, up front in cash. And just as always, I sincerely feel I earned every penny of that fee.
“My good friend Tom,” he effused as he sprawled on the couch in front of the picture window in my office, carefully adjusting his flowing mauve satin burnoose as he made himself comfortable. “I have missed seeing you for so long!”
“I also, have missed seeing you,” I glibly lied. “How may I be of assistance today?”
“On Wednesday,” he sighed, “there comes this report, one that breaks my heart.”
“Oh,” I surmised, “you must be referring to the Commission on Wartime Contracting Final Report released on August 31st, which found that since 2001, the United States has wasted between thirty and sixty billion dollars on contractors in Afghanistan and Iraq.”
“Yes, yes,” he confirmed, “that is the one.”
“The report states, though,” I pointed out, “that the largest category of obligations is for major contracting firms like Triple Canopy, Z Services, Red Star, Perini, Combat Support Associates and the Bahrain Petroleum Company. How does their business with the United States government concern you?”
“I… how do you say it? I… go between… for them, yes? I am man in the middle in Iraq,” he smiled. “United States fly money into Iraqi on big jet airplanes, many stacks of hundred dollar bills wrapped with plastic in boxes, so many they have to move around the money with fork lifts. And many, many times, here is big contractor in Iraq, and here is another contractor that works for them in Iraq, and here is someone in Iraqi government who likes to have some baksheesh, and here is someone in Iraq sent there from American government who likes to have some baksheesh, too. What I do, I put all together so contractor can get job done – no bid, no bid – get good job done and no bid; sole source task order. The United States government make sole source waiver, Iraqi government sign papers that say okay, so whole contract no bid, sole source task orders. Ahmed make many good business associates that way.”
“Understood,” I responded. “And then, of course, there’s the thirty-eight billion dollars in obligations to what the report calls ‘miscellaneous foreign contractors,’ your involvement with whom I am already aware.”
“Sure, sure,” he affirmed. “My brothers, my cousins, my good friends in al-Maliki government, all get contracts. They give to me some baksheesh, I arrange everything and they get sole source, no bid contract. For eight years, I make money helping United States, helping Iraq, helping friends and relatives. But then United States say they are leaving Iraq, and now is big investigation, big report, and I am very worried.”
“Understandably,” I concurred. “What did you do before the United States invaded Iraq?”
“Ahmed” hesitated visibly before answering as various expressions of dismay, apprehension and uncertainty played across his huge, rubbery face. At last, he answered. “I was… camel salesman. Also sometimes sheep.”
“Really?” I remarked. “I must confess, I never would have guessed that. So tell me, because frankly, I’m just a bit curious – what makes a good camel?”
“A… good… camel…” he mumbled, his eyes darting around as if the answer might be written on the wall of my office somewhere, “ah… um… er… a good camel has strong legs without wounds… it is not missing any toes… the fur is not patchy, nice fur, yes… uh… the tongue is wet, without sores… the eyes are clear, not watery, not red… and… the camel does not spit or bite when you beat it.”
“Interesting,” I replied. “And how does one determine the age of a camel?”
“You look…” he stammered, “at… the teeth, and if they… oh, by the Prophet’s beard! You are too clever for me, my friend Tom! I know you can tell I am making up all this camel talk. Okay then, I will say… what I did when Saddam Hussein was Iraq dictator was… I have… a nightclub… where Ba’ath Party members go… to meet… young girls… and… have… a good time.”
“Well,” I suggested, “you surely must have enough money put away to bankroll a place like that… or similar to that, anyway, depending on where you put it.”
“Sure, sure,” he agreed, “I have money to open gentleman’s club with dancers and a massage parlor next door somewhere, like I visit in Prince Georges County when I am here in Washington; or maybe in Nevada, or New Jersey – someplace like that. But the money is not so good as I am used to getting now, being in middle for no bid sole source contract deals. Contract deals much, much better money than strip club and massage parlor.”
“You could open several,” I observed. “At some point or another, you’d be making as much as you would in government contracting, wouldn’t you?”
My guest stared at the ceiling for a moment as he calculated, his lips moving slightly, mumbling in Arabic. “I think… maybe if I open fifteen or twenty of them, then I would get same… how you say? Return on investment?”
“Your margins in government contracting,” I wondered aloud, “are that good?”
“Nightclubs and massage parlors,” he pointed out, “have much… overhead? Is that the word? What you must pay for the building, the liquor, the bartenders, yes? Sure, dancers pay plenty to dance at nightclub, men pay big cover charge to get in and watch, and I can get massage parlor girls cheap from Russians, Romanians, Snakeheads, Gundal, Jopok or MS-13, but you have overhead, and not just water and electric bills – lawyers, muscle, protection, baksheesh for police, baksheesh for health inspector, all that adds up.”
“Sounds like you’ve given the business model plenty of thought already,” I commented.
“Yes,” he acknowledged with a frown, “and numbers not lie to Ahmed. Bottom line is government contracting deals make more profit than nudie bar and whorehouse put together. And to make government contracting deals or run nudie bar and whorehouse is all Ahmed knows. So please tell, friend Tom, what can Ahmed do?”
“You could start your own government contracting firm,” I recommended. “In Iraq.”
His eyebrows raised, betraying puzzlement. “Why not here in America?”
“Well…” I allowed, “you could, but you’d have to lose the burnoose and start wearing a suit.”
“Ahmed can wear suits,” he assured me.
“Also,” I continued, “I don’t know how to put his delicately, so I’m just going to come out and say it. You’re going to have to start bathing – twice a day, with soap and hot water – lay off the goat meat, camel cheese, baharat and foul mudammas, quit smoking black Turkish tobacco in a hookah, give up drinking a liter of Arak every night, and start brushing your teeth with mint toothpaste after every meal.”
“Ahmed must do all that,” he gasped, “to have a government contracting firm here in America?”
“I’m afraid so,” I assured him. “On the other hand, you could have one in Iraq and not change a thing – obviously.”
“Okay,” he nodded, “I start contracting firm in Iraq. Now, how I work the scam?”
“Subcontracting,” I informed him, “that’s the ticket – and you should start out by subcontracting to 8(a) firms.”
“What,” he asked in a mystified tone, “is this eight… A… firm?”
“They are government contracting firms formed under Section 8(a) of the Small Business Act,” I explained. “To start one, a person must be an American citizen, have a net worth of less that two hundred and fifty-thousand dollars, and be a member of a disadvantaged minority. Firms having 8(a) status are given special treatment, including set-aside work that big firms like Halliburton, Agility or ITT Federal Services can’t bid on. I think you’ll like the procurement rules for 8(a) contractors, too – they’re very… relaxed and flexible.”
“Oh, yes, yes,” he chortled, “relaxed and flexible is what Ahmed likes! So this I will do – make a government contracting firm in Iraq and find American 8(a) government contractors to make subcontracts with. They will get work because I have so many contacts in Iraq, yes?”
“Exactly,” I confirmed. “They will bid your firm’s in-country experience in Iraq to win an initial contract. After that, it’s all no bid, sole source task orders until the firm graduates from the 8(a) program.”
“Graduates?” A cloud of concern crossed his countenance. “What means this?”
“Firms can’t stay in the 8(a) program indefinitely. After a fixed period of time – several years – they ‘graduate’ from the program and can’t bid on these special contracts anymore. But that’s no problem for you. All you have to do when an 8(a) prime contractor graduates is find another one that’s still in the program and let them hire your firm to do whatever it is the contracts are for – building roads the Iraqi insurgents will inevitably blow up, constructing power plants the Iraqis won’t be able to operate, providing military supplies that will get stolen and re-sold on the Iraqi black market – whatever.”
“But what about the report?” He began fretting again, clearly vexed. “It says contractors are bad, waste billions of dollars. What if America says, no more contractors in Iraq?”
“America,” I told him, “has three options. One – they can pull out of Iraq completely and watch it collapse like a house of cards; two – they can pull out all the contractors and leave the American troops to take care of themselves, meaning many more years of dead heroes coming home in body bags; or, three – they can pull all the American troops out of Iraq and leave the contractors to keep Iraq from completely falling apart. Now, what do you think is going to happen?”
“I think,” he said with broad grin, “that Ahmed is going to make more money than ever before.”