by Tom Clancy
“I know, I know.” I took a deep breath and spoke slowly. “I’ve got a problem with Ramirez. I want you to know that if something happens to me, you’ll need to confine and question him. That’s all I’m saying.”
“Whoa, what the hell are you talking about?”
“I’m just saying I got a problem.”
“Scott, what’s going on out there?”
“If it comes down to it, I just want you to question Ramirez, all right?”
“I’m shocked. He’s one of the top five operators we have, and you’re telling me you think he’s going to frag you?”
“I don’t know.”
“Why would he want to do that, Scott?”
“Like I said, I’m not in a position to tell you everything.”
“You don’t need to protect me.”
“I know. I’m trying to save my own ass here.”
“So let me give you the company line here: You’re the on-scene commander, and I expect and trust you to resolve the situation in a professional and expeditious manner. You have been and will continue to be put in situations where you have two competing obligations.”
“I understand.”
“And now as a friend and fellow soldier, I’ll tell you this: If Ramirez is a problem—in the way that you suggest—then, for the good of the Ghosts, for the good of all operators, you need to address that problem.”
“In any way I can?”
“That’s right.”
“Would you consider that an order?”
“You know I can’t.”
I sighed and closed my eyes. “Yeah . . .”
“Scott, I wasn’t aware it’s gotten that bad.”
I couldn’t meet his gaze. “Well, Harruck’s babysitting the governor on our base, the spook is working on something that involves the Chinese smuggling in HERF guns, and the local police and Army are nonexistent. So yeah, it’s pretty bad.”
Gordon shook his head. “Two weeks, Scott. Get Zahed. If you wind up rescuing Warris early, then do it if you have to, but if you can sit on your hands, then do that, too.”
“All right.”
I couldn’t help but rejoice over his order to delay rescuing Warris. And I couldn’t believe the irony of that, either. Warris’s capture was giving them an excuse to break out the big guns and finally put some steel on terrorist targets. Maybe they were realizing that COIN operations needed some teeth behind them.
Then again, I wondered how effective even a major offensive might be. Word would get back to Zahed that forces were moving toward Sangsar, and he would just skip town until the fireworks were over. Then he’d come back and set up shop once more. Just a vicious circle. We had to get him before he left. They needed to cordon off that entire village.
When I left the comm center, I got word from the main gate that someone had come to see me: Shilmani. I went out there and had a seat on the tailgate of his water truck. “What are you doing here?”
“I want to help you.”
“Really?”
“Yes. Do you trust me?”
I shouldn’t have hesitated. But I did. “Okay, I trust you.”
“Then change your clothes. Burki wants to see you. I’ll wait here for you.”
“We always travel in pairs. I’ll need to bring another soldier.”
He didn’t flinch. “Okay.”
When I walked into our billet, several of the guys came over to me, and Brown said, “We think Ramirez is sick. He’s been throwing up since you guys got back. Nolan’s taking him to the hospital.”
“Oh, okay, good. Treehorn?”
The big guy looked up at me from his bunk. “Yeah, boss?”
“Get dressed like an Afghan. We’re going for a little ride.”
“You got it.”
I headed to the back of the billet, where Nolan was handing a canteen to Ramirez. “Come on, bro. You need to go over there.”
Ramirez, who was wearing only his skivvies now, shook his head.
“Hey, Joey, you okay?” I asked, my tone more of a challenge than an expression of concern.
He could barely face me. “Perfect.”
“Then why are you throwing up? You didn’t look sick a little while ago . . .”
He snorted. “You see that crap they’re serving in the mess hall? I guess it takes a while to seep into your guts.”
“Well, I hope you feel better. Soon.” I walked back to my bunk and began changing. Before I was finished, Nolan and Ramirez pushed past me and headed outside.
Brown lifted his head from his bunk. “Hey, Captain? Everything okay? I’m getting some bad vibes from you and Joey.”
“We’re cool. I’m just worried about him.”
“We’re worried about you.”
I drew back my head. “Me?”
“Yeah. You got a lot of pressure. We lost Matt. Warris is out there. We get new orders yet?”
I gave a short nod. “I’ll brief you guys when we get back.”
Shilmani drove Treehorn and me to one of two shacks positioned along more foothills on the far west side of the town. The shacks rose improbably from the dirt and pockmarked hills, and they looked as though they’d been there for centuries. Long rows of water jugs were stacked on a rickety framework, and two more pickup trucks were parked behind them.
Two men with AK-47s sat on the roof of one shack, and the rickety ladder they’d used to ascend to their perch leaned against one wall, casting a long shadow.
They eyed our group with deep suspicion, and I was glad to move into the cooler shadows of the first shack, where the water man sat on a thick carpet and sipped tea, along with a much younger man, who suddenly shot to his feet as we entered.
Shilmani gestured that we take seats on the crimson-colored toshak.
“We’ll have some tea first,” said Burki.
“Thank you,” I said, settling down on the cushion and making sure the soles of my feet were not showing. I muttered for Treehorn to do likewise and to remove his sunglasses.
Shilmani poured us cups of tea, which we quickly accepted.
The young man stood in the corner, just watching us. His beard was short, his eyes fiery. If he had a weapon, I’d say he wanted to use it on us, but thus far he appeared unarmed.
“How is the new well coming? I haven’t had time to go out there.”
Burki’s English wasn’t very good. Shilmani translated, and Burki said, “Oh, good, good, good. A lot of water!”
“He sounds happy,” I said to Shilmani.
“He is. Even with the Taliban cutting into our profits, we’ll still have a very good year. The solar-powered pump is a brilliant idea.”
“Not mine,” I said.
“But great nonetheless.”
“How are your wife and children?” I asked.
“Very well,” he answered. “Perhaps some time you could join us again for dinner. My children have a lot of questions about America.”
“I’ll try to answer them.”
Shilmani grinned, then leered up at the young man in the corner.
“Who is he?”
“Just the bodyguard.”
“He wants to kill me,” I said.
“Me, too,” Shilmani said with a smile. “I hate him.”
Burki leaned forward and gave me a long appraising stare. “I want you to kill Zahed,” he said slowly.
I drew back my head and looked at Shilmani, who simply nodded.
“What’s going on now?” I asked.
Shilmani spoke quickly, “We had a deal with Zahed for the water coming out of the new well, but he has chosen to break that deal and increase his demands. So we have chosen to kill him—and we will hire you to do the job.”
“Okay,” I said matter-of-factly.
Treehorn looked at me: Are you nuts?
I winked at him. Then faced Burki and made the money sign. “How much will you pay me?”
He looked at Shilmani and spoke rapidly, and I could only ferret out every third word.
“Tell him I said that’s very clever and I appreciate this offer. I will kill Zahed. How can he help me?”
Shilmani and Burki spoke again, then Shilmani said, “We will set up a meeting for you and Zahed. He will think you are one of the opium smugglers I told him about. You will come with us. And when the door closes, you will put a bullet in his head.”
“Okay.”
“Captain, I’m not sure this is such a good idea.”
I looked at Treehorn. “Thanks. No other opinions needed.” I faced Burki. “How soon can we meet with Zahed?”
“Soon.”
I turned to Shilmani. “Ask him about our captured man. Does he know where our guy is being held?”
After a moment of conversation, Shilmani turned to me and shook his head. “No idea. But Zahed would want to question him himself, so probably in Sangsar.”
“Ask him what he thinks the best-protected place is in that town.”
Shilmani did. Both men laughed. Shilmani turned to me. “He says the police station. The jail. But it is probably too obvious.”
We had dozens of maps and intelligence on Sangsar, but sometimes that intel did not indicate the function of some buildings unless streaming satellite video of the comings and goings of the inhabitants made it obvious—or if there was, of course, a sign on the building.
I drew an imaginary rectangle across the carpet and said, “Can you tell me in what part of the town we would find that building?”
Shilmani already knew. He pointed directly in the middle of the rectangle. I sighed. Of course—as deep into the town as you could get.
“So if I kill Zahed, your boss gets to keep all of the profits.”
“That’s what he thinks, but you and I know better.”
“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.
