Blowback by Brad Thor Page A

you’re persona non grata back home? What would you think if you were in my shoes?”
    “I’d think I must be pretty special for Scot Harvath to come to me for help.”
    “Bullshit. You’d have just as many questions, if not more than I do,” replied Kampos. “What the hell is going on? And don’t give me any I could tell you, but then I’d have to kill you secret agent crap either. The reason the DEA is able to work in so many countries around the world is because we don’t do any spy shit. We only work in the drug world.”
    “I know, and I’m not asking you to do any spy stuff.”
    “You asked me to compile two dossiers for you. That’s a pretty big favor. Granted it wasn’t like sneaking microfilm across the border, but we’re getting into semantics here. Why did you come to me instead of going to somebody at your own agency?”
    Harvath had a tough decision to make. Sure, Kampos liked him, but the man probably liked his career and his pension a hell of a lot more. Kampos wasn’t about to stick his neck out for Harvath without having a good reason. If Harvath was asking the man to trust him, he was going to have to do the same thing in return. His gut told him the DEA agent could keep his secret, and Harvath always went with his gut. “Have you seen the al-Jazeera footage they’ve been running from Baghdad?”
    “Where that GI is beating the camel humps off that poor fruit stall vendor?”
    “There was nothing poor about him, but yeah, that’s the footage I’m talking about,” said Harvath.
    “What a fucking mess. You know they’re going to fry that GI once they figure out who he is.”
    “Right after they use a very big axe to chop off his wee-wee.”
    “Hold on a sec,” said Kampos. “Are you telling me that-”
    Harvath put on the best grin he could muster considering the subject matter and said, “Yup. Yours truly.”
    “Turn around.”
    “What do you mean, turn around?”
    “I’ve seen that video about a thousand times already. That GI had one badly shaped head. I want to see the back of your head to see if it matches up.”
    “Fuck you,” replied Harvath.
    Kampos checked him out from across the table. “I can tell from here. It’s you. Jesus, what a head. How many times did your momma drop you on it?”
    “Fuck you,” repeated Harvath.
    “What’d she do? Use Crisco instead of baby lotion?” said Kampos as he pretended to have a baby that kept shooting out of his arms. “Whoops, there he goes again.”
    Harvath held up his middle finger and went back to his food.
    “Only you couldn’t have waited until the camera was off.”
    “Yeah, I couldn’t help myself. Very funny, Nick.”
    Kampos tried to put on a straight face. “No, you’re right. This is serious. Just let me ask you one thing.”
    “What?”
    “You were cussing that guy out pretty good while you were zip-tying him, right?”
    “So?”
    “So, technically I think that counts as a speaking role. You’ve arrived, son. You must be eligible for a Screen Actors Guild card now.”
    “And I’m the wiseass. Listen, I told you this because I thought I could trust you to keep quiet about it. It’s for your ears only.”
    “And I promise you it will go no further,” replied Kampos, who took a moment before continuing. “I’m not the only one who knows you’re the guy in that footage, am I?
    “No, you’re not, and that’s why I’m having trouble at the office.”
    “Is it the president?”
    “No. It’s somebody who’s trying to get to him by burning me.”
    “And they’re going to do it by going public with your identity?”
    “I sure as hell hope not, but don’t be surprised if I end up joining you as a Wal-Mart greeter.”
    “Junior greeter,” said Kampos. “I don’t share top billing with anybody, not even big TV stars like you.”
    “Fine, junior greeter,” replied Harvath. “Now, are you going to help me out or not?”
    Kampos reached down into the briefcase next to his chair, removed