by Tom Clancy
“Have you tried tailing him?”
“Who? Bronco? I don’t have the resources.”
“I do. Maybe I’m not your biggest problem here, Simon. Maybe he is . . .”
“The agency’s got its own agenda, no doubt. I even heard a rumor about the NSA having field agents out here, but I think my mission is too damned simple to be on their radar.”
“You never know . . .”
I spent about a week laying low and examining imagery from the drones, trying to pick out Zahed among the thousands of people living in his village. Twice, I’d thought I’d seen him in the bazaar, but I couldn’t be sure. A half dozen Army intelligence analysts back home were doing the same thing, but I always thought a guy behind a desk somewhere in Virginia might not notice the same things as a grunt in the sand.
My Ghosts continued to pose as regular Army and help with defenses along the defile leading down into Senjaray. Harruck’s patrols were harassed by gunfire a few more times, but no one was hurt, and the attackers, after firing a few rounds, fled before they could be caught. I contended that teenagers sympathetic to the Taliban were to blame.
Anderson, along with the Army Corps of Engineers and a half dozen other aid groups, began moving in building materials and breaking ground for the school and the police station, which would be constructed directly north of the defile so that locals could best defend them from attack.
Our replacement Cross-Coms arrived, but I was hesitant to have the guys use them until we pinpointed the source of the disruption.
I assigned Ramirez and Beasley to maintain surveillance on Bronco, who’d been spending a lot of time with landowner Kundi, water man Burki, and a few more of the elders from Senjaray and the other towns in the district.
Bronco hadn’t gone over to Sangsar, as I suspected he would. Ramirez told me that the engineers had assessed the damage we’d caused to the bridge and estimated it would take four to six months to complete repairs. We wouldn’t be in country long enough to see that happen, I assured him.
One night I took a four-man team into the mountains to run some long-range surveillance via Cypher drone and make another attempt to lure out the Taliban and their disruption devices. Nolan flew the drone in low enough for them to have heard and seen it, but there was no response.
“Ghost Lead, this is Jenkins. Suggest we move in past the wall, over.”
The guys were trying to goad me into a close recon of the village, but they always did that. They’d grown restless and longed for the sound of gunfire. They didn’t need good intel or just cause—just a clear night and full magazines. I was supposed to think responsibly.
“Negative. Hold position.”
“You’re not listening to Harruck, are you?” Ramirez whispered to me from his position at my elbow.
“No reason to swat the hornets yet,” I said.
“I don’t know, boss. Something’s gotta give.”
I glanced over at him; he was right.
The next morning, Marcus Brown woke me from a sound sleep. There was trouble out in the old poppy field where the Army engineers had proposed to drill the next well.
Kundi was there, causing a big ruckus, as were Harruck, Anderson, and a half dozen other engineers and construction supervisors.
Brown and I drove out there, and Harruck pulled me aside and told me I “wasn’t involved.”
“That’s fine. So I’ll just watch. And listen,” I told him, my tone making it clear that I wasn’t going anywhere.
“So what’s the bottom line?” one of the Army engineers asked Kundi.
“That’s it,” said Kundi, who was waving his hand over the broad area within which the drilling would occur. About fifty yards to the south lay the base of the foothills—a mottled brown moonscape of pockmarks and stones rising up toward orange-colored peaks. “You cannot put the well here. Over there, on the other side of the field, yes.”
“But we’ll have to drill a lot deeper over there,” said the engineer.
Kundi shook his head.
“Why not? Is this some kind of sacred ground?”
Kundi frowned and looked over to Burki, who in turn cast a quizzical glance at Shilmani, whom they’d obviously brought along to translate. He did, and Kundi nodded vigorously. “Yes, yes. God is here!”
I turned to Brown. “You know what God wants? He wants ground-penetrating radar and metal detectors all over this area.”
Brown nodded. “Hallelujah.”
A couple of days later, Harruck caught up with me in the mess hall and wanted an explanation for my request to have a team go out into the field with radar units and metal detectors. I’d had to put in those requests through regular Army channels, Gordon had told me, so Harruck’s interference came as little surprise.
“Kundi’s hiding something out there,” I said.
“So what if he is?” Harruck asked. “If we instigate him, the agreement goes south.”
“We need to have a look.”
“We’re telling him we don’t trust him if we got guys sweeping the ground out there.”
“Tell him I lost my watch.”
“Don’t be an ass, Scott. Who knows why he doesn’t want a well over there? Maybe he plans to grow cannabis there, plant cherry trees, who knows? So we move the well to the other side of the field. No big deal. Drill a little deeper. If he’s got a bone buried—or an opium stash—out there, I don’t want to know about it. Not right now, anyway.”
“So you’ll look the other way on that, too.”
“I’m just taking my time. So should you . . .”
“That a threat? Because we both know where this will go.”
“Scott, this whole damned country is full of thugs and gangsters. You’ll run out of fingers to point. So let’s move on.”
Harruck took his tray to another table to join the rest of his officers. Anderson was at a nearby table, and she came over to me and said, “Have you seen the site yet? We’re breaking ground for the school.”
I shook my head.
“You look finished here. Why don’t you come out and take a look?”
I shrugged and followed her outside. She had a civilian car, a Pathfinder, and she drove me over to the construction site, where at least fifty workers were placing broad wooden footers in the ground. Several concrete trucks were parked behind us, and piles of rebar and pallets of concrete blocks were stacked in long rows.
“All these guys that you hired . . . they’re from the village?”
“Some from this one . . . some from the others . . . but we’ve had a little problem, which is really why I brought you out here . . .”
“You weren’t trying to soften me up? Turn me into a humanitarian or something?”
“No. I need you to be a killer.”
“Excuse me?”
“Oh, I figure you’re intel or spec ops or something . . .”
“I’m just an adviser.”
“Right . . .”
“How many classrooms in this building?”
“Six. It’s going to be beautiful when we’re done. And the police station will be right out there. See the stakes?”
I shielded my eyes from the glare and noted the wooden stakes that outlined the L-shaped building.
“Yeah, we’re going to build it, and they’ll come and blow it back up.”
“You mean Zahed?”
I shrugged.
“Maybe not. I think Zahed is forcing the workers to give some of their pay to the Taliban. And I think when the school and the police station open, he’ll try to control the police. He’ll close down the school, too, but not right away—if he thinks he can make a buck.”
“What makes you think he’s blackmailing the workers?”
“At the end of the week when they’re paid, three men come around, and they form a line. I’ve seen them giving some of their money to those guys.”
“You pay them in afghanis?”
“It’s the only way.”
“Tell you what? Th
e next time that happens, come find me. I’ll have a talk with them.”
“Thanks.”
“Why didn’t you bring this to Captain Harruck?”
“I did. He told me that it wasn’t any of my business what the workers did with their money.”
“Maybe it isn’t.”
“I just . . . I don’t like it. Feels like we’re in bed with the Taliban.”
I grinned crookedly and told her I needed to get back.
Three things happened at once when I reached my quarters :
Nolan was telling me I had an urgent call from Lieutenant Colonel Gordon . . .
Bronco had come onto the base and was screaming at me to have my two bulldogs chained up and to stop following him . . .
And a young captain I’d trained myself at Robin Sage, Fred Warris, was standing at my door, waiting to speak to me.
In fact, he was in the same training class that Harruck and I had taught, which I initially thought was a coincidence. I’d heard that Warris had gone on to become a Ghost leader, so his presence outside my billet was suspicious . . . and strange.
I lifted a palm as all three men vied for my attention, but Nolan shouted:
“Sir, like I said . . . it’s urgent. Something about your father back home.”
ELEVEN
Nolan told me the call had come from the comm center, so I ran across the base, leaving the shouters behind. I reached the center and discovered that Gordon was on a webcam and seated at his desk back at Fort Bragg. He wanted to talk to me “face to face.”
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, enlightenm
ent.”
“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.