Finally, his smile evaporated. “Joe, my agency inter-
feres with everything. That’s what we do.”
I envisioned myself crossing to the table, grabbing
the bastard by the neck, shoving him against the wall,
CO MB AT O P S
99
and saying, If you get in my way, you’ll be on my target
list.
“No help from you, then.”
He shrugged. “Have you met the provincial gover-
nor?”
I shook my head.
“You should. The people here want him dead more
than Zahed. You want to be a hero, kill him.”
“Are you nuts?”
“Look at me, Joe. I could be sitting in a hotel room in
Laughlin, going downstairs every night to gamble my ass
off, drink my ass off, and have sex with a different hooker
every night. But no, I’m here. Of course, I’m nuts.”
“You doing this for America?”
He gave me a sarcastic salute and said, “Apple pie,
baby.”
“If I told you that I wanted to talk to Zahed, would
you be able to get word back to him?”
“That might depend on what you want to discuss.”
Bronco withdrew another cigarette from his breast
pocket and was about to light it up when I answered:
“I want to discuss the terms of his surrender.”
He dropped his Zippo and looked up. “Dude, you
are a comedian. I’m so glad you came.”
“Do you know anything about EMP disruption
being used by the Taliban?”
“You’re talking Star Trekto me. What?”
“Weapons that disrupt electronic devices. Have you
seen or heard anything about Zahed’s people using weap-
ons like that?”
100 GH OS T RE CON
He lit his cigarette and took a long drag. “Go home,
Joe.”
I grinned crookedly. “I was kinda hoping we could
be friends.”
He hoisted a brow. “Well, I do enjoy your humor and
sarcasm, but to be honest, you’re pretty much screwed
here . . .”
I caught up with Shilmani out near the town’s old well,
which would soon run dry. He was loading water jugs
onto a flatbed, and the old man behind the wheel of the
idling pickup got out when he spotted me.
Mirab Mir Burki wore cream-colored robes with a
long white sash draped over his shoulders. His turban
sat very low on his head and drooped at the same angles
as his eyes. Bushy gray brows furrowed as he cut off my
approach. “If you’re going to ask all the same questions,
then don’t bother,” he snapped in Pashto.
“I’m not here to interview you,” I said in English.
He looked to Shilmani, who set down his jug and
translated quickly.
“What do you want?” asked Burki.
“They’re going to build you a new well,” I said.
Burki answered quickly in broken English. “They
talk and talk. But no well.”
“They will dig it soon.”
“You are Captain Harruck’s friend?”
I gave a slow if somewhat tentative nod, then said,
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101
“I’m very worried about what will happen to the new
well, though. We must protect it from the Taliban.”
Shilmani translated, and Burki suddenly threw up his
hands and climbed back in the car.
I looked at Shilmani. “What did I say?”
Shilmani took a deep breath. “He doesn’t want you
to protect the well from the Taliban, remember?”
“Yeah,” I groaned. “Now I do. I’m in a difficult situa-
tion right now. If I can just remove Zahed, then maybe
your boss can negotiate for water rights with the next guy.”
“He’s very upset about the bridge. We have to drive
fifteen kilometers to cross at the next one.”
“Why do you need to cross?”
“To make our deliveries in Sangsar.”
“To the Taliban.”
He glanced away. “Scott, I did not contact any of
your men. Why are you here?”
“I need you to help me find Zahed.”
“It’s too dangerous for me right now—especially
with the bridge destroyed.”
Burki started hollering for Shilmani to finish up. I
raised a palm. “It’s okay. For now. When you’re ready.”
His eyes grew glassy before he looked away and fin-
ished loading his last jug.
My boots dragged through the sand as I crossed back
to the Hummer.
I thought about that little girl who’d been raped and
kept pinning that on Zahed so he could remain the
“bad guy” in my head. But then I heard Harruck saying
102 GH OS T RE CON
that maybe she’d been raped without Zahed’s knowl-
edge. Maybe he wasn’t linked to a lot of the crime going
on. Maybe he would, in the end, do much more for the
people than the government could.
After biting my lips and swearing once more, I hopped
into the Hummer, and the private took the wheel. “Where
to now, sir?”
“They got a bar around here?”
He laughed. “Uh, no, sir.”
I smelled something. Gasoline. Burning. I looked at
the private. “Get out!”
TEN
I opened the door and looked back to spot a burning rag
stuffed into our open fuel tank. Both the private and I ran
from the truck just as, in the next second, the tank rup-
tured under a muffled explosion and flames began rush-
ing up the sides. There was no heaving of the HMMWV
off the ground, no cinema-like burst of flames, but black
smoke and a thick stench spread quickly as I drew my
sidearm and scanned the row of houses behind us.
There he was. A kid, maybe eighteen. Running.
“Come on!” I shouted to the private.
Off to my left, Shilmani and Burki were already on
their way off, but the truck stopped. Shilmani bailed out
and started after us.
The private, whose name I’d already forgotten, and I
104 GH OS T RE CON
charged down the street after the wiry guy, who sprinted
like a triathlete. We reached the next intersection, glanced
around at all the laundry spanning the alleyways, and the
kid was gone.
“I’m sorry, sir,” said the private.
“Yeah. Call it in.”
As the private got on his radio, I walked back toward
Shilmani, who threw his hands in the air and yelled, “It
won’t be a big attack now. It’ll be this. Every day. Day
after day. Until they wear you down.”
“I get it,” I answered. “But I’m pretty tough. We’re
tough. They don’t torch one Hummer and expect me to
go home. No way, pal.”
“This is not the war you expected. This will never be
the war you expected.” He spun on his heel and jogged
back toward Burki and the truck, now sagging under
the weight of water jugs.
We left the alley and returned to the small crowd
watching our truck burn. That was two Hummers I’d
lost since coming to Senjaray. I was cursed.
The private told me at least three other patrols had
also been attacked in a coordinated effort by Taliban
residing inside the village. Shilmani was, of course, right.
We’d be harassed and terrorized, even as we tried to help.