by Tom Clancy
“We do?”
“There’s always another man to take over for Zahed.”
“Yes, there is. Do you know who that might be?”
“I have a cousin who works as a courier for Zahed.”
“You do? Why did you wait to tell me?”
“To protect him. And my family.”
“I see.”
“I will get more information from him.”
I finished my tea and smiled at Burki. “I really appreciate this help.”
He raised a brow. “Okay, okay.” He made a gun with his fingers. “You kill Zahed.
As we drove back through the town, we took a side street that ran parallel to the bazaar. A few kids on old bicycles were racing along the street and pointing as they passed the alleys. A huge crowd had gathered along the shops and stalls, and I could see people throwing things into the center square. Were those rocks? I couldn’t quite tell.
“What’s going on?” I asked Shilmani.
“Nothing. Never mind. We have to keep going.”
“No way,” I said. “Pull over.”
“Please, Scott. You don’t want to go there.”
“Why not?”
“Because you won’t understand.”
“You heard me. Stop this car.”
Shilmani took a deep breath. “You have to promise that if I stop, you will not interfere.”
“What are you talking about?”
He pulled over, threw the car in park. “You’ll see.”
NINETEEN
Harruck had never mentioned this issue to me, and I later found out that he’d known all along and had simply been hiding it. The news was simply another of the burdens he’d carried on his shoulders, and it made me understand — at least a bit more — why his stress level was constantly in the red zone.
I ran down the alley and reached the back of the crowd. Treehorn and Shilmani were just behind me.
There, in the middle of the road, was a brown sack, but when I got closer, I realized that a person was covered in that sack and buried up to the shoulders. The person was struggling, so I had to assume the hands were tied behind the back.
“Boss, is that what I think it is?” cried Treehorn.
“Aw, jeez.” I gasped.
A circle had been drawn in the road around the victim, and no one stepped inside that circle. From the periphery, they threw their stones, occasionally hitting the person in the head. Each time a stone made direct contact, the crowd roared.
“I did not want you to see this,” said Shilmani. “And I did not realize it would happen so soon. We would have planned the meeting another day.”
“Why is this happening?” I asked as the crowd chanted God is great and my mouth fell open.
“This is retribution for her sins.”
“Her sins? What the hell did she do to deserve this?”
Shilmani didn’t answer. A rock crashed into the woman’s head, and the sack began to stain with blood. The crowd grew even louder, and a blood frenzy now widened the eyes of those nearest the circle’s edge. The women hurtled their rocks even more fiercely than the men. I started forward, but Shilmani grabbed me — as did Treehorn.
“If you interfere, you will commit a crime,” said Shilmani.
“Okay, okay,” I said, fighting for breath and relaxing my arms so they could release me.
“Her hands are tied behind her back, but if she can escape the circle, she will be free,” Shilmani explained. “She’s only buried up to her shoulders to give her a fighting chance. Men are buried up to their heads.”
“You didn’t answer my question. What did she do?”
“She had sex outside marriage.”
“I knew it,” said Treehorn. “These women can’t do anything without getting punished for it.”
“We’d have to kill most American women if this were our rule,” I said.
“I know. It seems you Americans engage in this behavior quite a bit.”
“It just happens,” I said.
Shilmani made a face. “I still don’t understand how he convinced her to do it.”
“You mean the guy?”
He hardened his voice. “Yes, the American soldier from your camp.”
I considered going to Harruck’s office and telling him what I’d seen, but I realized the men needed something from me. And I felt badly for them. They’d been lying around the billet all day, just wondering what the hell was happening.
Ramirez had come back from the hospital with some antacid to soothe his stomach. He was lying in his bunk with his arm draped over his eyes.
I called the group forward, and after a few seconds, he was the last to gather around.
“Got a couple things going on. We’ll be back up in the mountains tonight. Engineering op. We’re going to blow those tunnels.”
“Hoo-ah,” shouted Brown and Smith in unison.
“I want to do everything we can to avoid engaging the enemy. They don’t call us the Ghosts for nothing. We’ll show them why.”
Hume raised his hand. “Any word back on the HERF guns yet? Do we know if they’ve got more?”
“I know the spook is working on something, and we have to assume they have more. Nolan, we still got two spare Cross-Coms, right?”
“That’s right.”
“Good, I’ll be taking one and Joey’s got the other.”
Ramirez frowned at me.
He was still in command of Bravo team. I wasn’t going to change anything. I’d decided that my paranoia should have no effect on the way I ran my team. And in retrospect, I think that was a good decision.
Up to a point.
“Something else going on you should know about.” I looked to Treehorn, who just sighed. “The water guy? Burki? He wants us to kill Zahed. Seems the fat bastard screwed him over on the deal with the new well, so that guy, the translator guy Shilmani, is going to help us set up a meeting with Zahed.”
“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” said Brown. “How’s that going to work? You don’t plan to go in there alone, do you?”
“Shilmani says he’s got a cousin who’s a courier for Zahed. I’ll probably be going in with him.”
“And when does this happen?” asked Nolan, wincing over the whole idea.
“Pretty soon, I’m guessing.”
“Then we need to work something out. The HERF guns don’t affect the chips in our bodies, so we can still track you.”
“You mean in case they take me prisoner.”
“So let me get this straight,” said Ramirez. “You’re going to walk into a meeting, put a bullet in Zahed’s head, and expect to walk out of there alive?”
“With a little help from you guys.”
The group chuckled. Ramirez’s expression remained deadpan. “Boss, I think it’s crazy.”
“Couple other things,” I said. “Higher’s planning a big offensive to sweep through Sangsar. They’re using Warris’s capture as an excuse. It’ll take them a couple of weeks to work out the logistics, so we need to drag our boots on Freddy’s rescue…”
“Hey,” Treehorn began, throwing up his hands. “I got no problem with that, since that punk wants to burn us all.”
“All right. Let’s go over the maps, plan the detonation points, and be ready to roll for tonight.”
The call came in while I was finishing up dinner in the mess hall. I remember stepping out there, looking at the mountains haloed by the setting sun, and thinking, This is it. This is the death call.
That was a very long walk to the comm center.
I was feeling numb by the time they guided me over to the cubicle, and my brother’s voice sounded strangely absent.
“Hello, Scott, this is your brother Nicholas.”
He was always so formal, so well educated and scholarly. He always talked about being articulate. I didn’t want him articulate at that moment. I wanted him sobbing.
“Hey, Nick.” My voice was already cracking.
“Dad passed away about an hour ago.”
“Okay.”
“Can you come home? We can delay the funeral for you, but I’ll need to know as soon as possible.”
Before I could answer him, a commotion behind me caught my attention. I told him to hang on.
A group of officers and NCOs was gathered around a flat screen, where a videotape was being played on the Al Jazeera network.
There was Fred Warris, dressed like a Taliban and sitting cross-legged with a group of Taliban fighters standing behind him. I couldn’t hear what he was saying, but that didn’t matter.
I told Nick I’d call him back. I drifted outside like a zombie and just stood near the door. I closed my eyes and thought of my father’s workshop, filled with the heavenly scent of sawdust. And I pictured his handmade coffin propped up on those sawhorses. I was also certain he’d left detailed instructions about his funeral.
I could take the emergency leave. Just bail out on all the bullshit. Maybe not even come back. Maybe just go AWOL and let them arrest me. I was entertaining every crazy thought I could, thinking of ways to self-destruct to hold back the tears.
My father had taught me how to be a man. I owed him everything. He was gone.
I don’t know how long I was standing there when Harruck and the XO rushed up and Harruck just looked at me. “Have you heard? They put Warris on TV!”
The terms for Warris’s release, presented by the man himself in the video, were quite simple: Stop all construction in Senjaray. Pull the U.S. Army company out. Pay the equivalent of five hundred thousand American dollars. Release nearly a dozen captured Taliban fighters and leaders.
I was sitting in the comm center on a conference video call with General Keating, Lieutenant Colonel Gordon, and Harruck’s battalion commander.
“We’re not going to negotiate with these bastards,” said Keating. “And I’m going to make sure we step up our timetable. I want a full-scale raid to happen within the next seven days. I want to make that happen. I don’t care what it takes.”
Gordon just shrugged.
Harruck’s boss was a yes man.
I shook my head in disgust.
“Mitchell, you got a problem with all this?”
“Sir, you told me I wouldn’t have any air support for this mission, and unless that’s changed, we’ll be moving in much too slowly with a large force. Zahed’s got spies planted all over this district. He’ll see our ground forces coming in, and he’ll be out of there long before they arrive. You won’t get him, and I doubt you’ll get Warris. We need to be dropped by chopper. Shock and awe. That’s the only way it’ll work.”
“I’d have to agree with Mitchell,” said Harruck. “We can’t afford to blow this. We can’t afford any counterattacks down here. We’re making great progress so far.”
I sat there, debating whether I should tell them about Burki and my plan to have a face-to-face meeting with Zahed. Part of me considered the idea that if I managed to bring in the guy alive, I’d be a hero and they could call off the whole offensive and save the taxpayers a lot of money. The other part of me, the realist, said, no, that probably wouldn’t happen; the offensive would go on because Keating was very upset now, and the old man would have his blood. So nabbing Zahed wouldn’t affect that outcome.
But I was intrigued by the idea of talking to Zahed. Perhaps I was suicidal, but the fat man had caused so much trouble in the area, created so many headaches, that I just wouldn’t be satisfied until I met him in the flesh.
And if I presented that cup of soup to “the committee,” they’d all want to pee in it, thinking it’d taste better. A crude but accurate metaphor.
Perhaps, I quipped to myself, we should change our name to Rogue Recon.
Then I realized once again that if I didn’t tell them what I had in mind, we’d be digging ourselves deeper graves. So I just took a breath and spilled the beans:
“Gentlemen, I’m in the process of setting up a meeting with Zahed.”
“Are you serious, Mitchell?” asked Keating.
“Yes, General, I am. One of my contacts in the village works for the water man, who wants me to kill Zahed. My contact has a cousin who works for the fat man himself. Let me go in there and talk to them.”
“No, not you, Mitchell,” snapped Harruck. “We’ll send in a professional negotiator.”
I started laughing. “I’ve got the translator, and they’re setting me up as an opium smuggler, so once I get in there, we’ll spring the trap on Zahed. There won’t be any negotiations.”
“Now that sounds like a plan,” said Keating. “We don’t sit around and chat while they’re about to chop the head off an American soldier. What do you need, Mitchell?”
I faced Harruck and the others on their screens. “I just need to be left alone so I can do my job, sir. And I need evac when the fireworks begin.”
Harruck was shaking his head. “General, with all due respect, sir, don’t you think an ambush operation like this can do more harm than good? If Mitchell fails, they’ll behead Warris on TV, and they’ll all be gone before we can launch our offensive. It’s a lose-lose, if you ask me.”
“We didn’t ask you, Captain. And Mitchell will not fail.”
Keating looked at me.
I gave him a curt nod. “My team is heading up into the mountains tonight. There’s a small cave network they’ll try to use to get down into the valley and attack the school and police station. We’re going to blow it up.”
“Maybe we should delay that operation until you meet with Zahed,” said Gordon.
“Colonel, I’d prefer to take care of that first.” I gave Gordon an emphatic look.
“All right, Captain, understood.”
I wanted to blow the caves first in case I didn’t make it back. Maybe I was growing a soft heart, but I kept imagining Anderson standing out there with those construction workers and those school kids and all of them dying under a hail of bullets. The cave network, like the bridge we’d blown, was an avenue of approach that needed to be eliminated.
After the meeting, Harruck pulled me aside and said, “I’ll have a Bradley and rifle squad ready for you.”
I softened my tone. “Thanks.”
“I’m sorry, Scott, but this is, as far as I’m concerned, the beginning of the end for you.”
“Why’s that?”
“If you do get that meeting with Zahed, I don’t think you’ll come back. I think you’re making a huge mistake. I don’t know what this is about… your ego… you trying to prove something to higher. You should’ve been relieved.”
“And that’s the difference between you and me.”
“Oh, yeah?”
“Yeah. I’ve got faith in that fat old bastard.”
“Zahed?”
“Yeah.”
“Why?”
“Because I’ve got something he wants — all that water from the new well. He’s been cut off. He won’t like it.”
“So what you’re saying is you are going to negotiate with him.”
“Not exactly…”
I grinned because I couldn’t believe I’d used those words, but I had.
TWENTY
About an hour before we were set to leave on the demo mission, Harruck came out to our billet, and the expression on his face didn’t look promising. The guys groaned, figuring the mission was off and that higher had more politically correct plans in mind.
But it turned out that my sister had notified the Army of my father’s passing. I wasn’t going to say anything, not even to the team.
“Scott, I’m very sorry to hear about your father.” He then explained how he’d heard.
“It’s all right. Thanks.”
“You should have told us. You need to go home. You need to pay your respects.”
“Would that make it easier for you?”
He tensed, glanced away a moment, then faced me. “Forget all this bullshit. I’m talking to you as a friend.”
“I thought our friendship was over.”
“I�
�m trying to keep this professional. Not personal.”
I couldn’t repress my sigh of disgust. “Good luck with that. Well, thanks for coming out, then.”
“So, you’re not taking a leave?”
I snorted. “I e-mailed my brother. I’ve already told him I can’t come.”
“You’re putting this in front of your father’s funeral? Are you sure? Are you sure you won’t regret this for the rest of your life?”
“Simon, I lost a guy here. I’ve got another guy who was captured. One of your men got killed while up there with me. I’ve got a young captain trying to help a village. I just can’t walk away now. I won’t regret it. My family understands. My dad would understand.”
He took a deep breath, gave a curt nod. “All right. Good luck, then.”
I’d missed more births, birthdays, anniversaries, holidays, and even funerals than I could remember. It didn’t get any easier. In fact, it got harder, and every time I spoke to my brothers or my sister on the phone, I had to reassure myself that the life I’d chosen was the right one because the distance between me and “the real world” grew larger every year.
And yes, I’d lied to Harruck. My brothers and sister would not understand. They would never tell me, but I could see it in their eyes, quite clearly. My sister once told me that I never did anything for myself. That wasn’t true. But as I stood there, watching Harruck go, I couldn’t help but resent some of the sacrifices, and I surrendered to the guilt of not attending my father’s funeral because yes, I’d put my job first. I’d given a lot to the Army, to the Ghosts, but missing Dad’s funeral… maybe that was too much.
We hitched a ride aboard one of the supply Chinooks, and we had that pilot drop us off about a kilometer east of the mountains. We set down in a well-protected valley not far from our FARP (Forward Arming and Resupply Point), used by gunships, Blackhawks, and Chinooks alike, so our bird was not a curious sight in that zone. We would hike in with less chance of being detected by Taliban fighters posted along cliffs that overlooked the village. Their gazes would be trained on the more obvious lines of approach, and we’d be coming up on their flank.