The Leveling by Dan Mayland

even briefly in Kyrgyzstan when the Americans were building Manas Air Base in the run-up to the war in Afghanistan. All that experience had earned him the kind of reputation that was worth something. Especially to someone like Holtz, who had only served with the CIA as an operations officer for five years before starting up CAIN.
    Mark added, “I’m actually trying to track down one of your employees. Was hoping you might have some contact info.”
    “I got a lot of employees. We’re up to twenty now.”
    “John Decker.”
    “What do you want with him?”
    “He’s kind of a friend.”
    “Friend?” Holtz crossed his arms and stared down at Mark.
    Mark noted that Holtz’s eyes were small and mouse-like.
    “I didn’t think you had friends, Sava.”
    “Well, acquaintance might be closer to the mark. We worked together last year. Can you help me?”
    “Come on, we’ll talk inside.”

    They cut across the air base in Holtz’s black Jaguar, on a utility road that paralleled a tall chain-link fence that separated the US section of the airport from the civilian section. Holtz parked between a couple of Humvees, in front of a one-story steel-sided building that looked like something in between a shed and a small warehouse. Mark had heard that Holtz was allowed to lease office space from the US military in exchange for giving them priority status whenever they needed to use CAIN.
    “So, yeah, we’re up to twenty employees now,” Holtz repeated as they entered his office. On his desk were a couple of manila folders, a few loose papers, and a laptop.
    Mark took a step toward the desk. One of the papers showed a diagram that looked like the sketch of a subway system. On the back wall, a Dallas Cowboys pennant was pinned to imitation-wood paneling, just above a watercooler. The whole place had a temporary, slapped-together feel to it.
    “That so?”
    Holtz gathered the papers on his desk and placed them inside his top drawer. “We’re in five countries; business is good. Decent client base, some industry gigs, some government.”
    Mark had heard that Holtz, though considered more brash than bright by CIA insiders, had landed quite a few DoD and State Department jobs simply because the United States had no one else to turn to in Central Asia. After all the cutbacks at the CIA, Holtz was one of the few players in the region.
    “Heard you were in Turkmenistan,” said Mark.
    “Who told you that? Decker?”
    Decker had indeed been the one to tell him, over beers in Baku, three months ago. He’d said that Holtz had approached him about a security job in Turkmenistan and that he planned to take it.
    “No, but word gets around, you know.”
    “That’s confidential information. Deck shouldn’t have been running his mouth.”
    “You’re making quite a name for yourself. I’ve been impressed.”
    Holtz nodded, as if this didn’t surprise him. “What I can tell you is that we’re well positioned in most of Central Asia, Turkmenistan included. You come to CAIN and you can run your own minidivision if you like, pick your country. Hire your own guys. I wouldn’t be in your hair. And I’ll tell you something else—I’m looking at selling in a couple years. A few of the bigmilitary contractors want to get into the private intelligence game, and it might be easier for them to buy CAIN than build from scratch and compete against us. You could make out like a bandit. We both could. I can show you some figures if you like.”
    Mark didn’t much care for the idea of working for, or even with, Holtz. But he certainly wasn’t opposed to making out like a bandit. “I’m not saying no, but I’d rather focus on Decker first.”
    Holtz sat down in his leather executive chair, popped open his laptop, tapped and dragged his finger on the touch pad for a while, and then grabbed a piece of paper and a pen.
    “Here,” he said to Mark. “E-mail, cell phone, address on record in Baku. You’re welcome.”
    Mark studied the