N.P. Simpson's Blog
October 11, 2018
Guantanamo: Death Investigation, Camp Kreyol
"Haitians fleeing a coup are placed in a U.S. Navy base tent city. The grisly death of a migrant women leads to suspicions of espionage while a violent insurrection in one of the camps evolves into special peril for an NCIS agent who'd thought she was just in GTMO to investigate fraud."
The setting of the novel is 1991, but what has horrified me recently is how issues of sexual assault and exploitation are as toxic in 2018 as they were then. The following excerpt is from a sub-plot involving a base teacher with whom the NCIS agent Fran Setliff has been housed. Setliff is unaware that the free-spirted teacher has set her up to be alone with one of her male "friends:
“I’m not interested, colonel. Be a good boy and get your damn foot out of my room.”
His answer was to leave his foot where it was and lean his shoulder against the door, grinning through the gap.
The smile had lost all friendly affect. It was an un-smile, cold as a bag of frozen peas. He knew she wasn’t being coy, playing “hard-to-get.” He knew she wanted him to leave and he didn’t care. She had ceased to be a person to him.
She started to sweat. She was pressing her entire body weight against the door. He wasn’t even putting his back into it yet. Skinny and stooped or not, he was strong. She considered stomping on his instep, but, dammit, her one good foot was bare. And, anyway, she’d have to take her weight off the door to do it. What she would give for one slutty Frederick’s of Hollywood stiletto heel!
This fucking ape thinks he’s going to rape me, she thought. He thinks I won’t tell a living soul about it afterward because, unless I provoke him into beating the crap out of me, nobody will believe me. He was sleeping over with my consent, if not by my invitation, wasn’t he? We had a drink together. I knew Lorraine wouldn’t be home. I’m a divorcee dressed in hot-pants running shorts. Must have been my fault, right?
And if it became part of her NCIS file that she claimed to have been raped soon after being asked to investigate rumors of rape, she’d look like a nutjob, projecting her imaginings onto an officer who’d served honorably for decades. An officer who would give a hell of a different version of events. Great career move, Frances Marie!
The setting of the novel is 1991, but what has horrified me recently is how issues of sexual assault and exploitation are as toxic in 2018 as they were then. The following excerpt is from a sub-plot involving a base teacher with whom the NCIS agent Fran Setliff has been housed. Setliff is unaware that the free-spirted teacher has set her up to be alone with one of her male "friends:
“I’m not interested, colonel. Be a good boy and get your damn foot out of my room.”
His answer was to leave his foot where it was and lean his shoulder against the door, grinning through the gap.
The smile had lost all friendly affect. It was an un-smile, cold as a bag of frozen peas. He knew she wasn’t being coy, playing “hard-to-get.” He knew she wanted him to leave and he didn’t care. She had ceased to be a person to him.
She started to sweat. She was pressing her entire body weight against the door. He wasn’t even putting his back into it yet. Skinny and stooped or not, he was strong. She considered stomping on his instep, but, dammit, her one good foot was bare. And, anyway, she’d have to take her weight off the door to do it. What she would give for one slutty Frederick’s of Hollywood stiletto heel!
This fucking ape thinks he’s going to rape me, she thought. He thinks I won’t tell a living soul about it afterward because, unless I provoke him into beating the crap out of me, nobody will believe me. He was sleeping over with my consent, if not by my invitation, wasn’t he? We had a drink together. I knew Lorraine wouldn’t be home. I’m a divorcee dressed in hot-pants running shorts. Must have been my fault, right?
And if it became part of her NCIS file that she claimed to have been raped soon after being asked to investigate rumors of rape, she’d look like a nutjob, projecting her imaginings onto an officer who’d served honorably for decades. An officer who would give a hell of a different version of events. Great career move, Frances Marie!
