Free The Girl in Green by Derek B. Miller Page A

laughter that rang itself out. Magnum’s deep voice emerged as the remaining sound as he explained how to become a world-class private investigator.
    â€˜You wanted to talk?’ Benton asked, seated. He was unsure what was happening. He was more concerned about Arwood, but Arwood was missing. No one had seen him after he’d disappeared into the Kurdish crowd. It was when Märta took the drink away from her lips that he noticed her hands were shaky. Her voice, though, was not, and her countenance was grave.
    â€˜Your friend scared the shit out of me today.’
    â€˜I’m sure you’ve seen worse.’
    â€˜The thing about this line of work,’ she said, ‘and I’m sure it’s similar to yours, is that I know I can leave whenever I want. As much as I sympathise with these people, their problems are not my problems. But with your friend? I think that could happen to me.’
    â€˜Arwood’s going through some things.’
    â€˜Like minefields.’
    â€˜That’s not what I meant.’
    â€˜I’m sorry,’ she said. She sipped her drink again. ‘What did you mean?’
    â€˜It’s been an especially hard month for Arwood. He’s very young and very inexperienced. I don’t think he understood until a few weeks ago what people do to each other on this planet, and how easily and often they do it.’
    â€˜How well do you know him?’
    â€˜In some ways, I feel like I know him very well. We’ve been through hell together recently. I haven’t known him long, though. I’m not sure that matters.’
    â€˜Did something happen during the war?’
    â€˜No — afterward. Arwood was stationed with an army unit monitoring the ceasefire. He was in Third Squadron, Second Cavalry Regiment, in a place called Checkpoint Zulu near Samawah. There’s nothing there. He was a machine gunner stationed at the northernmost point of the post. It was a terrible place,’ Benton said, turning to look at the young people watching Magnum emerge in his swimsuit, moustache, and Rolex from the Hawaiian waters.
    Märta poured them each another drink. She leaned back afterward and lit a cigarette.
    â€˜Anyway … I was there, too, with a couple of other journalists. We weren’t doing anything useful. We all wanted to get closer to the civil war itself and report on it, but we couldn’t. Saddam had kicked us all out, and we couldn’t legally get in. I was feeling headstrong about being manhandled all the time, and wanted to see something else. It was ironic, because the Americans rather cleverly gave us journalists what we all wanted: access. They embedded us in their military units. As a result, we saw the war up close and intimately, but from a one-sided, one perspective angle. The Pentagon outsmarted us. We’d been completely coopted, but it was so exciting that no one noticed.
    â€˜Eventually I figured this out. I decided to cross the ceasefire line where Arwood was stationed. I wanted to go into Samawah and see what was happening. Interview some people. Take some pictures. See the war from another side. Get that other perspective. I made him think it was his idea, because he was an earnest kid. I honestly didn’t think anything was going to happen. While I was there, the Republican Guard came and killed everybody. Arwood came to get me. Which he also didn’t have to do. But it wasn’t smooth.’
    â€˜What happened?’
    â€˜I don’t want to go into it. Not just yet. I just …’ Benton trailed off and then sipped his bourbon again. ‘I think … what happened today with Arwood … that was completely my fault. He wouldn’t have been banished up here if it hadn’t been for me, and he wouldn’t have suffered whatever he’s going through were it not for me. Also, it was useless. I dropped the film because it was slowing me down. I can’t file the story for