In full kit I ran out and what should appear It was Rudolf, he was wounded, he was one fucked up reindeer. He said Santa’s sleigh had been hit by a Strela The old man burned in and was captured by al Qaeda….” —EXCERPT FROM CHRISTMAS E-MAIL FROM THE MAMBA TEAM HOUSE The Blackwater team house sits off the main road inside the Green Zone, through a field of smoldering trash piles and dead dogs. The pungent smell of rotting carcasses and the smoke from melting plastic burns my nostrils. In a rudimentary form of security gate system, an armored blue truck blocks the turnoff toward the house. An Iraqi relaxing in a white plastic lawn chair gives us barely a glance before jumping into the truck to move it out of our way. The Triple Canopy contractors who have driven me from the airport talk shit about Blackwater’s apparent lack of security, bemoaning the Iraqi’s failure to even ask for IDs. I just view it as being polite. Who else would three bulky Americans in a black BMW 7 series be, other than fellow contractors?
