The Man Behind Blackwater

Erik Prince likes to point out that in Lafayette Park, across from the White House, stand the statues of four military officers who helped whip the ragtag Continental Army into shape to defeat the British in the Revolutionary War. Prince can quote the inscription under the statue of Gen. Wilhelm von Steuben, who trained George Washington's troops at Valley Forge, Pa.: "He gave military training and discipline to the citizen soldiers who achieved the independence of the United States." The private soldiers employed by Prince's company, Blackwater USA, to protect American officials in Iraq are in a "noble tradition," Prince tells NEWSWEEK. Indeed, at Blackwater, Lafayette Park is jokingly called "Contractor Park."

But don't call the Blackwater men "mercenaries." That's a "slanderous term" used by Blackwater's detractors, "an inflammatory word they use to malign us," says Prince. Mercenaries, he says, are professional soldiers who work for a foreign government. Blackwater's men are "Americans working for the American government." (Never mind that von Steuben was Prussian, and that the other three statues—of the Marquis de Lafayette, Comte de Rochambeau and Thaddeus Kosciuszko—honor two Frenchmen and a Pole.) If Prince seems a little defensive, it is not hard to understand why. Described in the press as "secretive," in part because he has in the past put his hands over his face around photographers, Prince has been in focus lately. A month ago, Blackwater guards protecting an American diplomat killed 17 apparently unarmed Iraqis in a chaotic scene in a Baghdad square. (After the incident, the company said it had "acted lawfully and appropriately in response to a hostile attack.") A recent book, "Blackwater: The Rise of the World's Most Powerful Mercenary Army," by Jeremy Scahill, strongly suggests that Prince is a "neo-crusader," a "Theocon" with a Christian-supremacist agenda.

It is true that the Blackwater Web site has a "Chaplain Corner" with a distinctly evangelical message. In the past 15 years, Prince says, he has attended "one or two" meetings of the Council for National Policy, a Christian right organization founded by the Rev. Tim LaHaye, author of the "Left Behind" series. But Prince plays down any connection between his religion and his business. "Look," he says, "I'm a practicing Roman Catholic, but you don't have to be Catholic, you don't have to be a Christian to work for Blackwater." A more telling criticism of the company may come from the State Department officials whom Blackwater protects. Certainly, they are grateful to be guarded by former Navy SEALs and other Special Forces veterans, rather than green, young National Guardsmen. Blackwater likes to boast, accurately, that it has never lost a client. Still, some American diplomats—and not a few professional soldiers in the U.S. military—look askance at the heavy-handed swagger of the Blackwater guards, who often sport goatees and tattoos, wear wraparound shades, brandish their weapons and have been known to run anyone off the road who gets in their way. One State Department official, who spoke anonymously so as not to offend any guardians, tells NEWSWEEK, "It was one step forward in a meeting with Iraqis and two steps back as cars were getting bumped off the road on the ride home."

In his NEWSWEEK interview, Prince, 38, wanted to rebut the suggestion that he is building a private army that is beyond the control of the American government and answerable only to him. He argues that his thousand-odd men in Iraq are not trigger-happy, and blames trial lawyers and congressional staffers for hyping false stories. But his own story suggests a restless search for higher forces and powers, for a kind of martial and religious purity that is not sullied or bogged down by bureaucrats and nosy reporters. In his occasional public utterances at security conferences, his vision emerges. He was once quoted by a defense-industry newsletter describing why his private contractors could provide better—more effective, more efficient—"relief with teeth" in a dangerous environment than international aid organizations or even the U.S. military: "Everybody carries guns, just like Jeremiah rebuilding the Temple in Israel, a sword in one hand, a trowel in the other." Prince, a weapons expert and adventure seeker since he outgrew playing with lead soldiers as a boy, has seen the promised land, and it is righteous and well armed.

Prince's father set a standard that was impossible to live up to. (Prince tells NEWSWEEK he is "not as smart as my dad was.") A self-made billionaire (he invented an illuminated mirror widely used in cars), Edgar Prince spearheaded efforts to save his hometown of Holland, Mich., from the scourge of modernism. While other fading Michigan auto towns were being hollowed out by strip malls and Wal-Mart, Prince Senior restored Holland's downtown to its Victorian charm. Today, seven bronze footsteps cast from Ed Prince's shoes lead to a statue of children singing while nearby bronze musicians play instruments. WE WILL ALWAYS HEAR YOUR FOOTSTEPS, READS the engraved memorial to the patriarchal Prince. (Other bronze statues show children pledging allegiance to the flag and Ben Franklin reading the Constitution.) Edgar was befriended by Christian leaders Gary Bauer and James Dobson and partially financed the Family Research Council, which both men helped lead. When Prince died in 1995, Bauer wrote, "Ed Prince was not an empire builder. He was a Kingdom Builder."

Hard work, family and God were the elder Prince's core beliefs. Old friends whom NEWSWEEK interviewed described Erik as dutiful and intense, but with a taste for practical jokes and danger. Obtaining a pilot's license before a driver's license, Prince wanted to fly Navy jets. He went from Holland Christian High School to the U.S. Naval Academy but transferred to Hillsdale College, an institution with an almost Ayn Rand-like faith in free markets, in the middle of his second year at Annapolis. Prince says he chafed at the Naval Academy's petty rules for new midshipmen, like chewing no more than three times before swallowing when questioned by an upperclassman at mealtime. Prince's former history professor from Hillsdale, John Willson, tells NEWSWEEK Prince found the Naval Academy to be insufficiently tough and conservative. (Prince denies saying this.)