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.