“Here,” Jaabir directed.
They exited the Toyota, weapons lowered but alert. It looked like any other street in Kandahar, the dirt road nearly empty as the people heeded the call for evening prayers, the sound blaring from a mosque in the distance. Jaabir knocked on the door and an old man opened, nodded to Jaabir, and swung the door wide. They entered the room and the old man motioned for them to move back, pulling aside a dusty red rug to expose a trapdoor, opening it with Jaabir’s help.
“You sure about this?” Deion asked.
“Yes. He is down there.” Jaabir whispered something to the old man who smiled crookedly and exited through the front door. “Wazir will keep watch for us.”
Deion shook his head. “I don’t find that reassuring.”
Jaabir smiled and motioned them down the steps. Everyone followed Deion down and into a small room where a young man sat tied to a chair.
“His name is Koshen,” Jaabir said, kicking the young man in the leg. “He helped Abdullah prepare the bomb.”
Deion gave Koshen a once over, and the young man stared back, his face blank. Koshen’s face was covered in bloody red scabs and heavy purple bruises. Flakes of dried blood caked his nostrils and the young man coughed heavily.
“Looks like you might have already questioned him,” Deion said.
“We asked about his involvement in the bombing. General Azim was eager to find information that might stop this misunderstanding between our people.”
Deion nodded. He was familiar with the shifting allegiances in Afghanistan and knew that Azim was only looking out for himself.
“We found this,” Jaabir said. He pulled the remains of an old book, the leather-bound cover charred and covered in soot. “He burned it before we captured him.” He passed it to Deion. “Will this help?”
Deion opened the cover, only to find the pages charred beyond recognition. Whatever secrets the journal contained were destroyed. He sighed. Of course it wouldn’t be that easy. He turned to the young man and spoke in Pashto. “Your name is Koshen?”
Koshen blinked, his eyes focusing on Deion, then down to the remains of the journal.
Jaabir smacked him across the face, the crack of skin-on-skin echoing against the cement walls. “Answer his question!”
Koshen turned his gaze to Jaabir but did not answer. Jaabir drew back and smacked him in the face, hard enough to send a trail of spit flying from the young man’s mouth.
“You will answer,” Jaabir demanded, “or I will make you answer.”
Deion motioned for Jaabir to step back. “There’s no reason for that. He wants to talk, don’t you?”
The young man said nothing, watching Deion with wide brown eyes.
“We just want to ask you some questions. We won’t hurt you, we just want to talk.”
Jaabir raised his hand but Deion grabbed it. Koshen glanced from Jaabir to Deion, then spoke. “Yes, I am Koshen.”
Deion smiled and nodded. He tossed the remains of the leather journal in the corner, then stepped to the side of the room and took an empty chair, dragging it across the floor, setting it down across from the young man. He sat, facing Koshen. “That’s good, really good. It’s nice to meet you, Koshen. We know you were involved in the bombing. A truck full of explosives?”
Koshen nodded, swallowing hard.
“That’s good,” Deion said. Just keep working him. “You helped rig explosives in the truck, didn’t you? You can tell me. I’m not going to hurt you. It’s in the past. Can you answer a few questions, Koshen?”
His ear-piece crackled to life. “Deion, we’re picking up an increase in cell phone traffic within a mile of your position.”
He turned. From the scowl on Nancy’s face he knew she had also heard Clark’s message. “Jaabir, did anyone know you were bringing us here?”
Jaabir shook his head. “Just General Azim and his closest men.”
He keyed his mic. “Anything from big bird?” he asked Clark.
“No visual. Karen is running down the SIGINT.”
He turned back to the young man. “Koshen, was the man you helped named Abdullah? Was he the man who planned the bombing?”
Koshen glanced down until his chin touched his chest, then shook his head.
“You can tell us the truth. The man’s name was Abdullah? You helped him with explosives, right? It was a fertilizer bomb, wasn’t it? Koshen, look at me, you can tell me.”
Koshen raised his head, looking to Jaabir and then to Deion. He nodded. “Yes, I helped Abdullah.”
“See, it’s okay.” He smiled. “What we don’t know is why Abdullah picked that base.” He paused, trying to figure out how to ask without putting more pressure on the young man. Koshen was loyal, but not stupid. If he could give him an out — a way to give them the information they needed without betraying Al-Qaeda — he knew he could get the young man talking. “Do you know what they were doing at that base?”
Koshen shook his head.
“They were testing new equipment. That’s all.” Time to spin it. “They were just men and women doing a job. Then Abdullah sent a man with a bomb. There was a doctor and a nurse. They weren’t enemy soldiers. The doctor provided health care to some of the locals.”
Koshen said nothing.
Deion looked around and found a dirty water bottle on a table against the wall. “Jaabir, can we get Koshen some water? He looks thirsty.”
Jaabir frowned, but he grabbed the water bottle and roughly poured some in Koshen’s mouth. “I do not think you should be so kind,” Jaabir grumbled. “Ask him your questions and I will beat him until he answers.”
“That’s not the way we do things. We’re the good guys.”
In the back, Nancy rolled her eyes while Valerie and Neil watched, silent.
“There, you’ve had some water, do you feel better? I bet you where thirsty, weren’t you.”
Koshen tried to avert his eyes, then finally caught Deion’s gaze and nodded.
“Do you think Abdullah made a mistake? Anyone can make a mistake. You think maybe he just picked the wrong place?”
Koshen opened his mouth and closed it. “No, he did not make a mistake.”
“Why did he pick this base?” Jaabir asked, swinging his hand back.
Deion caught Jaabir’s hand again. “No. We don’t hit someone who is cooperating. We thank them. Koshen, why did Abdullah pick that base? Was it because he knew about the testing? Was it the drone?”
His ear-piece crackled again. “We’re picking up movement,” Clark said. “The area is getting hot.”
Fuck! He whirled around. “Jaabir, did you set us up?”
Jaabir backed away, but Deion jumped from his chair and grabbed Jaabir’s pato, wrapping it around his fingers, tightening the rough fabric against Jaabir’s throat. “Was that the plan? Get us here and kill us?”
Jaabir trembled as Neil grabbed Deion’s hands. “Whoa, look at him, he’s terrified. Jaabir, what’s going on?”
Jaabir’s eyes darted around the room. “We must all leave. Now!”
“We can’t leave without getting our info,” Nancy said. She raised her pant-leg and pulled the Ka-Bar knife, then pointed at Koshen. “Either he tells us what we need to know, or I start cutting off fingers.” She stepped menacingly towards the young man. “You understand that? Tell me what I want to know or you’ll have two bloody stumps.”
Valerie jumped in and grabbed Nancy’s shoulder. “Jesus, Nancy, we don’t do that kind of thing!”
“The fuck we don’t,” Nancy said. She turned back to Koshen, who cringed from her gaze. “Why did Abdullah want to attack that base? Where is he now? Who helped him?” She advanced, knife in hand.
“Calm down,” Deion said. The situation was escalating out of control, but their lives depended on remaining calm. “Jaabir, what happened to your man, Wazir?”