EXFIL by Anthony Patton (best books to read non fiction TXT) 📗

institutions had to rely on internal promotions to fill the upper ranks. If the Army fired a colonel, it couldn’t run an ad to replace him; it had to promote a lieutenant colonel from within and keep people clawing their way up the pyramid.

Thus, with rare exceptions, every general had once been a second lieutenant.

The private sector had certain advantages over the public sector, such as a clear mechanism to measure performance (cash flow) and the ability to hire outsiders at all levels. However, because profits and shareholders were the name of the game, people often found themselves peddling their souls to market stuff we don’t need, such as sugar water, fast food, or lewd entertainment that appealed to people’s baser impulses.

The pursuit of profits for the sake of profits rarely lined up with our higher callings in life.

While moving up the ranks in the Army, it never occurred to me that defense companies were also profiting by selling to us—uniforms, weapons, ammunition, vehicles, aircraft, fuel, computers, radios, you name it. In fact, many of these companies were traded on the New York Stock Exchange and wrote annual reports to advise their shareholders how they planned to increase profits the next year, which was difficult during peacetime.

During my early exposure to this racket, I insisted on transparency to ensure that companies weren’t taking advantage of our American taxpayers. However, as I rose further up the ranks, I realized that what I thought was big money was merely a rounding error. In many cases, billions of dollars were at stake, with senators and congressmen using their pull in various committees to fund pet projects in their home states or districts to win votes or campaign contributions. Reasonable attempts were made to spread the wealth, which made sense on a political level, but this lack of rational planning meant billions of dollars were wasted every year in the name of compromise.

As I got settled at Cyber Command, I learned that they too had ambitious plans to respond to the growing cyber threat. But it was clear that no one had a complete grasp of how to manage the money or the growth. Salivating contractors were hawking their products or services, and contracting officers were signing on the bottom line to spend the money as quickly as possible, to avoid receiving a smaller budget the next fiscal year.

As I reviewed the contracts, one company had its fingerprints on everything: JB Defense Solutions. Everyone spoke positively about the company, claiming that they set the gold standard for defense contractors, but my curiosity was piqued when I sat at my desk and saw an invitation addressed to me for a river cruise event, hand typed on embossed linen stationary and signed with wet blue ink—Sincerely, James Bartfield, President and CEO, JB Defense Solutions.

I had served many years overseas, never in D.C., but I was under the impression that there were strict rules regarding government officials mingling with contractors.

With that in mind, you can imagine my surprise when I parked in Old Town Alexandria and walked to the pier to see a massive yacht, La Clave, with bright lights, loud music, and a banner for JB Defense Solutions. I ascended the ramp and presented my invitation to a young cutie in a red, white, and blue sailor outfit with a miniskirt. She gave me a gift bag with a JB Defense Solutions pen, note pad, and USB drive. I tucked it in my pocket, accepted a Scotch on the rocks from a passing waitress, and scanned the area. I didn’t recognize anyone and walked to the ledge to admire Old Town Alexandria, then saw something in my peripheral vision.

I turned to see Brett and Nguyen sitting at a table, waving me down.

“How did it go with Lieutenant Colonel Li?” Brett asked.

“He asked about you. I arranged a meeting for Saturday,” I said, with a confident look at Nguyen, then looked around and shrugged. “What the hell is this?”

Nguyen gestured broadly. “Welcome to the wonderful world of James Bartfield. He throws these bashes all the time. By the way, congratulations—our guy attempted contact during the event but got shot down. Looks like you got the lead.”

My inclination was to puff up my plumage and strut, but I opted to raise my drink respectfully instead, showing that it was no big deal and that I appreciated their vote of confidence.

Brett leaned closer to create a confidential space. “You might have noticed that Bartfield is knee-deep in everything you guys do at Cyber Command.” He leaned back as a stunning waitress approached. “I come for the hot chicks.”

“Hey boys,” the waitress said with a perky smile, dressed in the same patriotic sailor outfit that enhanced her centerfold cleavage, probably a student at one of the local universities. “Why Mr. Phelps, I do declare,” she added, playing the debutante. “The usual?”

She handed him a Scotch on the rocks.

“Please, call me Brett,” he said, then grabbed a soda water with lime from the tray and gestured to an open chair. “Would the future Mrs. Phelps like to join us for a drink?”

“Only if Mr. Phelps is owner of this here yacht,” she said with a curtsey.

Brett held his broken heart as Nguyen and I laughed.

She accepted Brett’s five-dollar tip with a wink, handed the Scotch on the rocks to Nguyen, and moved to the next table—offering the same witty banter. Brett sipped his soda, admired her ass, and sighed before getting back to business.

The music stopped and someone tapped a microphone inside on the dance floor. “Ladies and gentlemen,” said a man wearing a suit with no tie, “on behalf of JB Defense Solutions, we would like to welcome you. It is my pleasure to introduce our fearless leader, Mr. James Bartfield!”

The crowd erupted in applause and whistles as a portly man dressed in a charcoal suit, white shirt, and no tie waved and grabbed the microphone.

“Thank you, ladies and gentlemen, thank you very much,” Jim said. “I know you’re eager