by Tom Clancy
Ramirez shook his head, turning away from me to sink his head deeper into his hands.
“You know, being in Special Forces is one thing. But we were chosen to be in the Ghosts because we don’t just talk about the tenets of being a great soldier, we live by them. We live by the creed. And I quote, ‘I will not fail those with whom I serve. I will not bring shame upon myself or the forces.’”
I guess hearing myself say those words was a little too much to bear. I screamed at the top of my lungs, “JESUS CHRIST, JOEY! JESUS CHRIST! WHAT THE HELL DID YOU DO?”
“I don’t know! I don’t know! Please don’t turn me in. I got nothing else. You know that. This is my entire life. Scott, please . . .”
“I lied in my report. Do you realize the position you’ve put me in? I need to call Gordon and tell him you killed that kid to protect me.”
He backhanded tears from his eyes, then looked at me, trying to catch his breath. “Why do you need to do that?”
“Because I swore an oath. Because you swore an oath.”
“If you go to them, they’ll make me talk. They’ll make me tell everything. You refused to be relieved. That’ll come out. And we’ll both be burned.”
“I know.”
“Then what the hell, Scott?”
“Joey, I just can’t believe any of this . . .”
“How about I make it easier for you to stay quiet. You can blame it all on me. I’m telling you right now, that if you turn me in, you’ll be hanging from the rope next to me. I’ll make sure of that, not because I want revenge, but because you’re too damned good of a leader for the Ghosts to lose. Don’t you get it, Scott? I killed a guy for you! You can’t just throw your life away now! I killed a guy!”
“I don’t know what I’m going to do. I really don’t. I thought I had enough going on already. I didn’t expect this. Not from you, Joey. Not from you.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Tell that to the kid’s family.”
SEVENTEEN
We returned to the road and reached the construction site about ten minutes later. A tent village had been erected behind the half-built school, and there I noted about twenty or thirty children seated in neat rows on blankets and listening as two teachers took turns reading to them. The kids were surprisingly attentive, still wiping their noses and scratching themselves, but their gazes were fixed on the storytellers. Many of them had no shoes or simply thick socks. The boys wore short hair and the girls had scarves draped over their heads. Chalkboards stood on easels, and several small tables held other props like balls, water pitchers, and clay pots. Plastic crates brimmed with dusty, weather-beaten books.
In truth I’d gone to the site in part because I thought I might run into Anderson again. I needed a pretty face to help temper all the ugliness around me. She was watching a group of laborers erect the walls of the school on the broad concrete foundation. Just behind her stood the sandbagged machine gun nests my team had helped build.
“I’m glad you’re getting a chance to see them,” said Anderson, turning toward me and gesturing to the tent full of children.
“I assume they’ll have desks, once they move inside . . .”
“Yes, they will. These kids need a sense of dignity. And we’ll give that to them. We’ve made a great deal here. We train the teachers and provide the educational materials if the community provides us with those teachers. And we’re trying to recruit more girls to the classes, at least thirty percent for us to receive full funding from some of my sources.”
“The Taliban doesn’t want girls educated,” I said.
“It doesn’t matter what they want. It’s what the people want. And if the Taliban know what’s good for them, they’ll follow the example of some of the other villages up north. This works. I’ve seen it.”
“It works until we leave. And hey, you haven’t called me about these guys turning over their paychecks to the Taliban.”
“I know. I think they know I’m watching them, and they’ve become more discreet. But it’s going on, I know it.”
“All part of the great legacy we’re building here.”
She hoisted a brow and looked me dead in the eye. “When Harruck told me about trying to build a legacy, do you know what I told him?”
“That he’s dreaming?” I guessed.
“No, that it’s obvious: This school is the legacy. But we need to protect it. We need to train the police and whatever National Army troops we can get here.”
“We’ve already done what we can,” I said, gesturing to the sandbagged nests and the observation posts beyond. I lifted the binoculars hanging around my neck and panned the horizon, coming to a stop on a cluster of Taliban fighters, at least ten of them, perched on the mountainside, watching us. Our machine gunners were watching them, too.
“No, that’s not enough. We need more police, more Afghan Army troops. We need a garrison here. We need police to patrol the town.”
“Talk to Harruck.”
“I already did. I’m talking to you.”
“Why do you think that’ll make a difference? You don’t even know who I am . . .”
She smiled as if she did. She couldn’t. Unless, there was much more to her than met the eye.
“I know who he is,” she said, gesturing toward an old white sedan that was rumbling toward us, its hood caked in dust, its windshield wipers still working to clear away more dust. Bronco was behind the wheel. She continued : “I know you guys talk.”
“I’m not at liberty to discuss this any further.”
“I’m just telling you, please . . . help us.” She gave me a curt nod, and Ramirez and I stepped away as Bronco parked near the school tent and climbed out.
“You’re not looking for me, are you?” I asked.
“I figured you’d be looking for me. Buy me flowers. Something for saving your ass,” he said.
I wished I could tell him my ass was far from saved.
“What’re you doing out here?” I asked.
“Saw you. Figured I’d let you know about your buddy.”
“What’re you talking about?”
“They captured one of your men. I heard about it. I talked to a few of my contacts in Sangsar. They’ve got him. I’m sure you’ll hear from them soon.”
I glanced over at Ramirez, who just shook his head and sighed.
Though I hate to admit it now, when Bronco said he had news concerning “our buddy,” I’d hoped that Warris had been killed. That’s a terrible thing to wish on the man, but that was how I felt.
And I just knew, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that Keating would want me to rescue Warris, the very man who would burn me at the stake when we got back.
“All right, thanks for the info,” I told Bronco. “Always nice doing business with the friendly neighborhood spook. And now, what is it you want from us, because I know you want something.”
He smiled—an unfortunate grin that revealed his aversion to modern dentistry. “I want HERF guns. You came back with two of them, didn’t you?”
“Classified,” I said.
“I need one.”
“Too late. Already turned them over to Army intel.”
He looked away. “Damn it.”
“So that’s why you’re here?”
“Among other things. We’ve got some Chinese agents in Sangsar. They’re supplying the HERF guns.”
“You got proof?”
“I got it. But hard evidence is always better. It allows me to more definitively make a move. It allows me to have my three-letter agency call your agency and get the job done right.”
I nodded. “Assholes or allies. Hard to tell the difference sometimes . . .”
“That it is.”
“How come you’re willing to play nice all of a sudden?”
“Because now it benefits me. What else you need to know?”
“Just where my guy is and where I can find Zahed . . .”
“I’ll get back to you on those . . .” He winked and
hobbled back toward his car. Only then did I notice his limp and the deep scar running across his ankle. What I didn’t notice, though, were all the lies he’d just told me. He could’ve won an Oscar for that performance.
I dropped off Ramirez back at the base, then headed over to Harruck’s office. I was about to open the door to enter the Quonset hut when I noticed a car parked outside and an old man, a local from Senjaray I figured, unloading luggage from the trunk. I opened the door, stepped inside, and just as the door was closing behind me—
A thundering explosion rattled the walls followed by the pinging of debris.
Ahead was Harruck, seated at his desk, talking to a dignified-looking man with gray beard and expensive-looking Afghan clothes. I assumed he was a government official of some sort, and I was correct.
As Harruck and the other man shouted behind me, I took a deep breath, then slipped back outside.
The car had exploded, the man removing the luggage lying in pieces across the dirt, the flames still pouring up from the shattered windows. I raised an arm against the intense heat as Harruck’s security people were screaming and rushing to get fire extinguishers.
Harruck came out behind me and screamed orders to his people, while the older man hollered in Pashto, then covered his eyes and began speaking so rapidly that I barely understood a word.
We watched as Harruck’s teams began putting out the fire, and the black smoke sent signals to the Taliban in the mountains and everyone in Senjaray—indeed, something had happened on the American base.
Harruck ushered the old man back into his office, and I entered behind them. The old man collapsed into his chair and tried to catch his breath. His eyes brimmed with tears.
Harruck glowered at me and said, “Well, Scott, this is obviously not the time for you and I to talk.”
“I understand.” In Pashto, I said to the old man, “I’m very sorry about this.”
He answered in English. “They must’ve rigged my car on a timer. And I guess it went off too late. They are amateurs, the men who are trying to kill me.”
“Who are they?” I asked.
“The same people you are trying to help.”
I looked at Harruck, who rolled his eyes. “Scott, this is Naimut Gul, the district governor.”
“Sir, I wish we could have met under different circumstances.”
“My driver was a very good man. Highly trusted.” He shuddered and rubbed the corners of his eyes.
“Governor, if you’ll just give me a moment to speak with him?” Harruck asked.
Gul nodded. “And now, Captain, I think you fully understand what I’m talking about.”
“Yes, sir, I do.”
Harruck motioned me back outside, where we walked around to the pathway between huts. The officers’ barracks lay to our right, and one of the guys had designed a little putting green in the middle of the desert, an oasis of sorts that Harruck pointed to and said, “See that? Crazy right here in the desert, right? Well, that’s what I got right now, with that fool inside my office.”
“What’re you talking about?”
“Everybody in the district hates the guy. He’s former Taliban, and he’s been extorting these people for years. He’s a crime lord with ties to the opium trade, but he’s still in tight with the government, and higher now tells me it’s my job to protect him. He’s moving his office onto our base. And you know what? Everybody wants this guy dead: the Taliban, the people here, even some guys in the government because they know what a scumbag he is.”
“So you’re not having a good day. Join the club.”
“Scott, I might need your help here.”
I almost laughed. “What?”
“If this guy sets up shop here, we’ll be painting an even bigger target on our backs.”
“But you got orders to protect him—just like I got orders to capture or kill Zahed. By the way, I ran into Bronco. His contacts confirm that the Taliban have Warris. I’ll be taking that up to higher in a few minutes.”
“That’s what I thought. And now I’m thinking about a trade—not one that higher ever knows about.”
“What?”
Harruck lowered his voice even more. “The Taliban would love to get their hands on Gul. What if we trade him for Warris? We just make it look like the governor got kidnapped.”
“Are you serious?”
Harruck spun around, cursed, then whirled back. “I don’t know what I am anymore, Scott. I really don’t. What the hell am I supposed to do with this guy?”
“Just do your job.”
“No one makes that easy—especially you. I read your report.”
“Then you know if we can’t get air support, I’ll be organizing my team to head back into the mountains and blow up that tunnel complex. We need to destroy that in order to better protect the school.”
“Are we really on the same page?”
“I don’t even know if our pages are in the same book, but those tunnels need to go. And if you got a problem with that, you’d better let me know right now.”
“That man sitting in my office is my bigger problem. Blow up the tunnels, Scott. Screw it. Blow ’em all up . . .”
I stood outside the communications hut, just watching Harruck’s guys deal with the burning car and begin cleaning up the mess. That the captain’s people had not done a bomb search of the car before it had passed through the main gate was odd. I walked over to the gate and questioned the guys, who told me they had orders from Harruck to waive the search and not delay the governor’s arrival—a mistake made by the young captain. That car should’ve been left on our perimeter, and the governor should’ve been transferred into a Hummer and transported to Harruck’s office. Oh, but that was so inconvenient. I’m sure security would tighten now that Harruck had his 20/20 hindsight.
After leaving the gate, I found it harder to drag myself back to the comm hut. I couldn’t get the images of Ramirez killing the kid out of my mind. And I kept shuddering as the shots rang out and the kid fell back.
I kept seeing that blank stare on Ramirez’s face.
And I kept wondering what I looked like. What expression had he seen on my face? I couldn’t remember how I’d reacted.
And then I began playing over his rationale, hearing him tell me again and again that he’d killed for me and that he’d saved our careers. The more I thought about that, the more the paranoia filled my chest cavity like blood. I knew Ramirez was worried sick about me taking what he’d done to higher. Yes, I’d lied in my report. But that still didn’t mean I wouldn’t bring it up, fall on my own sword with him, and end both of our careers because it was the morally correct thing to do. My own sense of guilt would fuel his paranoia.
And because that doubt had to be in his head, I wondered if maybe, just maybe, I might be a target. I was the only witness to what he’d done, and if I “died in combat” the same way the kid had, then no one would be the wiser.
After all, he’d told me he had nothing else in his life.
In the middle of the desert, in one-hundred-degreeplus heat, an intense chill ran up my spine. What if Joey did find some way to off me? No one would know.
I couldn’t bear that thought.
EIGHTEEN
It took another thirty minutes to finally get Gordon on the line, and we switched to a video call, which was a little grainy, with some boxy dropouts, but I still could note the old colonel’s deep concern.
“You know I’m caught in the middle here, Scott. I didn’t want to send Warris. Keating’s taking a lot of heat, and he’s got no choice but to pass the buck. You know how this works. I’m getting ready to tell them all where to go.”
“Me, too. Well, there’s no media here, so unless Zahed and his people get on Al Jazeera, we’ll be okay. I don’t know about his contacts in that department, but suffice it to say we haven’t got much time.”
“No, we don’t.”
“Obviously, you want me to rescue Warris.”
“Not exactly.�
��
I sighed deeply. That phrase was becoming a knife in my back. Then again, maybe they were writing off the young captain? No way. They couldn’t be. “Sir?”
“We might be able to use Warris’s capture to justify a big offensive in the area. It’s what that place really needs anyway. Some big units moving through and sweeping out the cockroaches. It’s too damned corrupt to send you guys in there to take out one man. The guy’s laying low, and if he does move, they’ve got him disguised. We even thought they might’ve moved him in a body bag from one part of the village to another. I’ve got nothing actionable to hand you at this point.”
“So you’re giving up on my mission?”
“No, you’ve still got time to do what you can. It’ll take another two weeks for the logistics to be worked out. They’ll need to pull some people out of Helmand. But once that happens, Zahed won’t know what hit him. However, the Ghosts can save face by pulling Zahed out of there before the hammer drops.”
“So you want me to get Zahed and rescue Warris, but you want me to take my time on the rescue op.”
“Obviously this call is not being recorded and the transmission is fully encrypted,” he said with a wink. “Otherwise, I wouldn’t confirm that. But hell yes, son, you need to begin some negotiations, but buy us the time on our end.”
“What if they torture him? What if he spills his guts to those bastards?”
“We’ll have to take the hit, because higher believes that securing Kandahar and the outlying areas—”
“You don’t need to finish,” I told him while sighing in disgust.
I leaned back from the cubicle and glanced around the comm center. I was wearing headphones and the screen had glare protection, so no one could peer over my shoulders.
And at that moment, I stopped calling him “sir.” I’d known Buzz Gordon for a very long time, and that was the most tense few moments I’ve ever had with a CO. “Buzz, I need your advice on something.”
“Glad I’m still good for something.”
“I, uh, I can’t tell you everything.”
“Scott, it’s me.”
