vided all of us with tea. I took a long pull on my cup and
relished the flavor, which somehow tasted like pista-
chios.
“So, Scott, what do you do for the Army?”
“I take care of problems.”
“But you cannot do it alone. You want my help.”
“I don’t trust you. I don’t trust anyone here. But my
job would be easier, and fewer innocent people would
get hurt, if I could get some help.”
“What do you need?”
“Not what. Who.”
Shilmani took a deep breath and stroked his thin
beard. “You’ve come for Zahed.”
I smiled. “Why not?”
“Because that’s impossible.”
“Nothing’s impossible,” said Ramirez.
“He has too many friends, even American friends,
and too many connections. He has too many assets for
you to ever get close. They always know when you’re
coming. And they’re always prepared. They have eyes on
your base every hour of every day. You cannot leave
without them knowing about it.”
“So they know I’m here.”
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“Yes, they do.”
“And I’ve already put you in danger?”
“No, because I work for Mirab Mir Burki, who is the
master of water distribution here in Zhari.”
“I don’t understand.”
“Burki knows you Americans want to dig a new well.
He wants that well, and he’s already negotiated with
Zahed over rights to the water and the profits. We’re just
waiting for you to build it. Any contact I have with
Americans is part of our water negotiations—so as you
might say, I have a good cover.”
“What is it you want?”
“What all men want. Money. Safety for my family. A
better life.” Shilmani finished his tea, then topped off
our cups and refilled his own.
“You want to see Zahed captured?”
“He’s not a good influence here—despite what others
may say. He does not break promises, but when he gives
you something, the price is always very steep.”
“Kundi seems to like him.”
“That old man is a fool, and Zahed would put a knife
in his back. There is no loyalty there.”
“Would you go over to Sangsar and work for us?”
Shilmani’s gaze turned incredulous. “No. Of course
not.”
“But you said you wanted money. I can work out an
arrangement that would be very good for you—and
your family.”
“I am no good to my family if I’m dead.”
CO MB AT O P S
65
“We can protect you.”
“You’re not a good liar, Scott.”
We finished the tea, and Shilmani’s wife and daughter
served rice and an onion-based quormaor stew, along
with chutneys, pickles, and naan—an unleavened bread
baked in a clay oven. The food was delicious, and the
wife continued urging us to eat more.
Afterward, while his family retreated to the back of
the house, Shilmani wiped his mouth, then stared hard
at me. “You have to remember something, Scott. After
all of you are gone, we are left to pick up the pieces.
We’re just trying to do the best we can for ourselves.”
I stood. “I know that. Thanks for the meal. If you
want to give me some information about Zahed, I’ll pay
for it. If you change your mind about going to Sangsar,
then just tell one of the soldiers on patrol that you want
to speak to me. I’ll get the word.”
“Okay. And one more thing. Walk in my shoes for a
moment. I cannot trust the Taliban. I cannot trust my
village elder or my boss. I cannot trust the district gov-
ernor. And I cannot trust you, the foreigner.”
“You know something? I think I’m already there,” I
told him.
Ramirez pursed his lips and gestured that we leave. I
called back to the family, said our good-byes, then ambled
out into the street, as Ramirez got on the radio and
hailed the Hummer driver.
“What do you think?” he asked as we started around
the corner. “Waste of time?”
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GH OS T RE C O N
“I don’t think so. He doesn’t like Zahed.”
“Yeah, seems like there’s more to it.”
“And maybe we can use that to our advantage.”
Around eleven P.M. local time I got a satellite phone call
from Lieutenant Colonel Gordon back at Fort Bragg.
He’d just arrived in the office and was telling me that his
morning coffee tasted bitter because I had yet to capture
Zahed.
Then, after he finished issuing a string of epithets
regarding the call he’d just had with General Keating, he
cleared his throat and said to me point-blank, “Is Cap-
tain Harruck going to be a problem?”
“I don’t know. To be honest with you, Colonel, I
think higher’s just throwing stuff at the wall to see what
sticks, and we’re all just part of the plan.”
“Well, you listen to me, Mitchell, and you listen to
me good. We both know this COIN mission is complete
and utter nonsense. It’s politicians running the war. You
don’t secure the population and let the enemy run wild.
We ain’t playing defense here! And we can’t have that.
As far as I’m concerned, it is nota good day to be a Tal-
iban leader in the Zhari district. Do you read me?”
“Loud and clear, sir.”
“New Cross-Coms are en route. Meanwhile, you do
what you need to do. Next week at this time I’d like to
be powwowing with the fat man.”
“Roger that, sir.”
“And Mitchell?”
CO MB AT O P S
67
“Yes, sir?”
“Is something wrong?”
“No, sir. I’m fine. Talk to you soon.”
I’d thought he’d heard me cracking under the pres-
sure, but later on I realized that my heart was just dark-
ening, and the old man could sense that from a half a
world away.
At about three A.M. local time, in the wee hours, we left
the base in a Hummer driven by Treehorn. Harruck
made no attempts to stop us. I’d assumed he’d been told
by Keating that he should not interfere with my mission.
Instead of driving out into the desert, toward the
mountains, we headed off to the town, so that the Tal-
iban now watching us from ridgelines and the desert
would assume we were just another village patrol.
Once in town, we went to the bazaar area, where sev-
eral vendors had their old beater pickup trucks parked
out behind their homes/stalls.
We split into two teams and entered the homes behind
the stalls, accosting the shop owners and demanding their
keys at gunpoint.
The old merchants saw only a band of masked wraiths
with deep, angry voices.
Within five minutes we had two pickup trucks on the
road, and the old men who could blow the alarm were
gagged and tied. They might guess we were Americans,
but we spoke only in Pashto and were dressed like the
Taliban themselves.
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GH OS T RE C O N
I sent Jenkins back with the Hummer, and though he
was bummed to remain in the rear, I told him I needed