by Tom Clancy
I shuddered as I sat before the monitor and tried to catch my breath. “Sir…”
His voice echoed off the steel walls of the Quonset hut. “Scott, I’m afraid I’ve got some bad news about your dad. He’s in the hospital, intensive care. He’s had a heart attack.”
“Who called you?”
“We got word from your sister.”
“Wait a second…” I cocked my thumb over my shoulder. “Warris is back at my… how long ago did this happen?”
“I’m not sure. Last night? Yesterday afternoon, she didn’t say.”
“And so you’ve sent Warris to relieve me?”
“Actually, I didn’t. I sent him to serve as a liaison officer between you and Harruck.”
“A what?”
“Well, we wanted to limit your contact with Captain Harruck. The general’s deeply concerned about the situation there. The idea was that all communications with Captain Harruck would go through Captain Warris. But now I’d understand if you want to take an emergency leave and go home.”
A vein began throbbing in my temple. “Sir, I’d like to talk to my sister before I make that decision.”
“I understand. And I’m sorry about your dad.”
“Sir, I’m sorry about Captain Warris being here. He’s too valuable to be a liaison officer.”
“Mincing words with the old man?” Gordon smiled. “I know you think this is bullshit, but I gotta do something to defuse what’s going on out there. Harruck’s pounding hard, so we’ll let Warris act as the go-between.”
“I don’t need a go-between.”
“Apparently, you do.”
I glanced around, groping for a response, anything, but then I just sighed in disgust. “Yes, sir.”
“Why don’t you take the leave right now, Scott?”
“Because…”
He sat there, waiting for me to finish.
“Because I still want to believe that my mission means something, that capturing the target will make a difference, and that the United States Army hasn’t sold its soul to the devil. Sir.”
He averted his gaze. “If there’s anything I can do on my end to help, just let me know — and I’m not just talking about the mission.”
I couldn’t hide the disgust in my voice. “All right, sir. I’ll be sending some coordinates about a field. I want some satellite imagery on it.”
“No problem. Scott, I got your back.”
“I know that, sir.”
That was a lie to make me feel better. It wasn’t his fault, really. As everyone had said — the situation was complicated.
I remained in the comm center and finally got in touch with my sister, who told me Dad was stable, but the heart attack was a bad one and now they thought he had pneumonia. He’d slipped into a coma and was on a ventilator.
“I haven’t even seen him yet,” Jenn said. “Gerry and I will be flying in from Napa tomorrow. Did you try to call Nick or Tommy?”
“Not yet.”
“They should know more. How’re you doing? You don’t sound too good.”
“Just having one of those days.”
“Where are you now? Classified?”
“Not really. I’m back in Afghanistan.”
“Again?”
“It’s the war that keeps on giving.”
“Will we ever finish there?”
I snorted. “Maybe next week.”
“Why don’t you retire, Scott? You’ve done enough. Do like Tommy. Work with your hands. You love the woodworking just like Dad. And you’re good at it, too. Get into the furniture business or something. Gerry says niche markets like that are the future for American manufacturing.”
“Tell Gerry thanks for the business analysis. And retirement sounds pretty good about now. Anyway, I’ll try calling you tomorrow night. Let me know how Dad’s doing. Okay?”
“Okay, Scott. I love you.”
“Love you, too.
I sat there, closed my eyes, and remembered sitting next to my father while he read Hardy Boys books to me. Frank and Joe Hardy, teenaged detectives, could solve any mystery, though finding one Mullah Mohammed Zahed was beyond the scope of even their keen eyes and deductive lines of reasoning.
Suddenly, I shivered as I thought of Dad lying in the coffin he had built for himself in our woodworking shop behind the house. He’d been so proud of that box, and the rest of us had thought it so creepy and morbid of him, but then again, it was fitting for him to design and build his “last vehicle,” since he’d spent most of his life in the auto plant.
After calming myself, I stood and thanked the sergeant who’d helped me, then left the center.
I was numb. The reality of it all wouldn’t hit me till later.
Warris and Bronco were still waiting for me at my quarters. I apologized to Warris and asked him to wait inside my billet while I spoke to Bronco.
“Mind if I listen in?” asked the young captain.
Here we go, I thought. “Yeah, I do.” I pursed my lips and looked fire at “the kid.”
“Hey, Captain Warris,” called Ramirez from the doorway. “Come on, and I’ll introduce you to the rest of the guys.”
Warris took a deep breath and scratched the peach fuzz on his chin. “All right…”
I waited until he was out of earshot, then took a step forward. “See this? Get used to this. This is me in your face.”
Bronco frowned. “I didn’t figure you for a cowboy.”
“I’m not.”
“And I figured you’ve been here before.”
“I have.”
“Then maybe you have an idea of what you’re dealing with here… or maybe you don’t. Like I said, just lock up your dogs, and you and I will be just fine.”
“Okay.”
I stepped back from him, took a deep breath.
His eyes narrowed, deep lines spanning his face. “Just like that?”
“Where are you from?”
“I’m a Texas boy. You?”
“Ohio. So you’re the cowboy.”
“And you’re the farmer. I think what you need to do is listen to the CO here. He’s got it together. He understands the delicate balance of power.”
“Unfortunately, that’s not my mission.”
Bronco checked his watch. “You got a minute. I’ve got some friends I want you to meet…”
“Who are they?”
“Men who will provide, shall we say, enlightenment.”
“Oh, I’ve got that up to here.”
“Trust me, Joe. This will be worth your time.”
I thought about it. “I’m not coming alone.”
He looked wounded. “You don’t trust me. It’s not like I work for the CIA or anything. Look, we’re just going into the village. You’ll be fine. My car’s right over there.”
“This is important to you?”
“Very.”
“You think it’ll get me out of your face?”
“I don’t know. We’ll see.”
Maybe I was feeling suicidal, but I told Ramirez to entertain Captain Warris until I returned. I drove off with Bronco to a part of the village I hadn’t visited before, where the brick houses were more circular and clustered in a labyrinth to form curving alleys that opened into courtyards full of fruit trees and grapevines. In the distance lay great fields of wheat, sorghum, and poppy, and off to my right was a mine-sweeping team along with their dogs working the field where Kundi said it was okay to drill the well. At least Harruck hadn’t been a total fool about that. And for all intents and purposes, he could have those minesweepers check the area where Kundi had refused to drill… but he wouldn’t…
Bronco parked along a more narrow section of the road, then led me onward into the dust-laden shadows of the warren.
Several old men with long beards were trailed by children holding a donkey by its reins. The animal was carrying huge stacks of grass to feed cattle penned up in the south. Farther down the street, I spotted one of Harruck’s patrols questioning
a young boy of ten or twelve wearing a dirty robe. The soldiers looked like high-tech aliens against the ancient terrain.
We reached a narrow wooden door built into a wall adjoining two homes and were met by a young man who immediately recognized Bronco and let us in. He spoke rapidly in Pashto to the boy, who ran ahead of us.
The courtyard we entered had more grapevines and several fountains along a mosaic tile floor; it was, perhaps, the most ornately decorated section of the village I’d encountered. To our left lay a long walkway that terminated in a side door through which the boy ran. We started slowly after him, and I detected a sweet, smoky smell emanating from ahead.
I was dressed like a regular soldier and still packing my sidearm. I reached for the weapon as we started through the door, and Bronco gave me a look: You won’t need that.
“Force of habit,” I lied.
Light filtered in from a windowless hole in the wall as we came into a wide living area of crimson-colored rugs, matching draperies, and shelving built into the walls to hold dozens of pieces of pottery, along with silver trays and decanters. Dust and smoke filtered through that single light beam, and my gaze lowered to the three men sitting cross-legged, one of whom was taking a long pull on a water pipe balanced between them. The men were brown prunes and rail-thin. Their teacups were empty. Slowly, one by one, they raised their heads, nodded, and greeted Bronco, who sat opposite them and motioned that I do likewise. He introduced me to the man seated in the middle, Hamid, his beard entirely white, his nose very broad. I could barely see his eyes behind narrow slits.
He spoke in Pashto, his voice low and burred by age. “Bronco tells me they sent you here to capture Zahed.”
I glowered at Bronco. “No.”
“Don’t lie to them,” he snapped.
“Yes,” said Hamid. “The rope of a lie is short — and you will hang yourself with it.”
“Who are you?” I asked him in Pashto.
“I was once the leader of this village until my son took over.”
I nodded slowly. “Kundi is your son, and your son negotiates with the Taliban.”
“Of course. I fought with Zahed’s father many years ago. We are both Mujahadeen. The guns we used were given to us by you Americans.”
“Zahed’s men attack the village, attack our base, and rape children.”
“There is no excuse for that.”
“Then the people here should join us.”
“We already have.”
“No, I need your son to cut off all ties with the Taliban. There’s a rumor that the workers building the school and police station have to give their money to Zahed.”
“I’m sure that is true, but Zahed is a good man.” Hamid nodded to drive the point home.
“Do you know if he is working with al Qaeda?”
“He is not. He is not a terrorist.”
“Hamid, forgive me, but I don’t understand why your people support him. He’s a military dictator.”
“He comes from a long line of great men. The people in his village are very happy, safe, and secure. All we want is the same. We did not ask you to come here. We do not want you here. We would be happier if you went home.”
“But look at what we’re doing for you…”
The old man pursed his lips and sighed. “That is not help. That is a political game. I had this very same conversation with a Russian commander many years ago. And he thought just like you…”
A muffled shout from outside wafted in from the window. “Hasten to prayer.”
Bronco looked at me, and we quickly excused ourselves and headed out while they began their prayers.
Back in the courtyard, the old agent turned to me and said, “Do you see the nut you’re trying to crack? These guys are all family, brothers in arms, old Soviet fighters. They bled together. You think they’ll go against Zahed? Not in a million years.”
“Then what’re you doing here?”
“My job.”
“Which is…”
“Which is making sure you dumb-ass Joes don’t fuck this all up.”
“What’s this? Having villages controlled by the Taliban? Little girls raped?”
“What if I told you Zahed works for us?”
“I’d say you’re full of it.”
“Money talks, right?”
“He’s not a terrorist.”
“Why should I believe you?”
“Because if you do, you have a better chance of staying alive.”
“So now you want to help me stay alive? I thought you wanted me to go home.”
“Going home will keep you alive.”
“Sorry, buddy, can’t help you there.”
“Well, then, Captain Mitchell, I guess we should head back to my car.”
I froze. “How do you know my name?”
“Captain Scott Mitchell. Ghost Leader. The elite unit that”—he made quote marks with his fingers—“doesn’t exist. Top secret. Well, we’re the goddamned CIA, and no one keeps secrets from us.”
I had to smirk. I’d tried to dig up intel on him and come up empty.
His tone softened, if only a little. “Years ago, you rescued a couple of buddies of mine in Waziristan. Saenz and Vick. They weren’t too thrilled about the rescue itself, but you saved their lives — which is why I figure I can return the favor. If you stick around long enough, they’ll put a target on your head.”
“I’ve been wearing one of those for a lot of years.”
“Look, you must be a smart guy. Go call your boss. Tell him this mission is a dead end. Literally. Get out while you still can.”
“Whoa, I’m scared.”
“Turn around and look up.”
I did. There was a Taliban fighter with an AK-47 standing on the roof, his weapon aimed at my head. And no, he was not hastening to prayer.
“See what I mean? They’re giving you a chance to bail, and they’re doing that as a favor to me. But if you decide to stay and attempt to carry out your mission, then I won’t be able to help you. I want to be very clear about that.”
“How can you do this with a clear conscience?”
“Do what?”
“Betray your country.”
“Are you serious? Come on…” He spun on his sandal and shuffled off.
I glanced back at the Taliban fighter, whose eyes widened above his shemagh.
TWELVE
I kept quiet during the ride back to the base, and as I got out of the car near the main gate, Bronco started to say something, but I cut him off. “I appreciate what you’re trying to do.”
“Then do the right thing. This ain’t worth it. And if you think you can beat them with all your fancy gadgets and gizmos, think again, right?”
“Are you helping Zahed?”
“Me?”
“I’m asking you a direct question. Yes? Or no?”
“No.”
“Why do I find that hard to believe?”
“Listen to me, Joe. Don’t let your ego get in the way here. They gave you a mission, but they don’t understand. They didn’t give you orders to upset the balance here.”
“Balance?”
“Yeah. You might think this doesn’t work, but to these people, it ain’t half bad.”
I smirked, slammed the door, and walked on toward the gate. The mine-sweeping team was just coming in as well, and I asked a lieutenant at the Hummer’s wheel how they’d made out.
The skinny redhead wiped a bead of sweat from his brow and answered, “Looked clear to us.”
“Hey, can you do me a favor and sweep the original zone?”
“You mean where we were supposed to drill?”
“Yeah.”
“I’m sorry, sir, but I haven’t received orders or authorization to do that.”
“Yeah, but it wouldn’t take long, right? Thirty minutes? I mean you’re all loaded up already.”
He grinned slyly. “You think those bastards are hiding something out there, don’t you?”
“I
know they are.”
“I’m surprised Captain Harruck didn’t ask us to sweep it.”
“That hottie Anderson is keeping him real busy now,” I said.
“Oh, yeah, she’s hot.”
“Australian accent. What an ass on her, too.”
I was talking his talk. He wriggled his brows. “Tell you what, we’ll give it a quick look. I’m sure the CO would make us check it out eventually.” He threw his truck in reverse, backed out, and started away from the gate.
Damn, I thought. I didn’t think he’d go for it. Now I was committed to the plan.
I watched them leave, then hurried back to our billet, where inside, the guys were doing the usual: reading, playing computer games on their iPods, cleaning weapons, and/or creating battle profiles for our Cross-Coms, something Nolan truly enjoyed. We always killed more time than enemy insurgents. So it was in the Army. Hurry up and wait.
Ramirez and Warris were seated at the small conference table near the door, and Ramirez gave me a sour look as I entered. “What’s up?”
“Sir, just had a nice, long talk with Captain Warris. Seems he’s in charge now.”
“Say again?”
“That’s not exactly true,” said Warris.
I quickly said, “Gordon told me you’re our new—”
“Liaison officer?” Warris finished. “Yeah, well, that was the initial thought. They say they won’t relieve you of command, Mitchell, but I’ve been told that anything and everything you do must be screened through me first, and at that point I’ll bring it up with Harruck. I’m sorry. I know how this is. But they were emphatic.”
“Outside,” I snapped.
“Excuse me?”
“I said, out… side… do you read me?”
“Whoa. You’d better check the registry.”
“Not now, son.”
I opened the door and waited for the punk I had trained, the punk who thought he was replacing me, to head outside, where we could talk away from my boys.
So I’d just learned that my father was in a coma, that my chances of capturing my target were next to nil, and that some kid with barely two combat tours under his belt was going to “oversee” my operation. I guess I’m trying to rationalize or justify what I did next.