Текст книги "Ghost recon : Combat ops"

Автор книги: David Michaels

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CO MB AT O P S

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the job done. Secure the town. Assist in building the

infrastructure.”

“They’re already talking about pulling me out. Giv-

ing me four months—if I’m lucky.”

“Well, you got the ball rolling now.”

He swore under his breath. “Maybe. So what’s next?”

“Well, I can’t trust you, but I still need this compa-

ny’s support to get my job done. Does the XO know

what happened?”

“Shoregan’s on my side. He’ll do whatever I say.”

“Don’t trust him. He wants your command, and I

could give it to him right now.”

“Scott, I don’t want to take this any further.”

“Yeah, because you got caught.” I snorted. “I don’t

care what you got on me. Bring it.”

“Just slow down, and think about what you’re

doing . . . one minute you sound like you’ll let me off,

the next you’re blowing the whistle.”

He was right. I was torn. I could still go against Keat-

ing’s wishes, burn Harruck, and back the old man into a

corner; however, if I did that, Keating could easily ruin me.

I glanced over to the wall, where Harruck had

proudly displayed pictures of his various tours. One on

the left caught my eye: our Robin Sage training. I stood

there with our class, with Simon at my side, his arm

draped over my shoulder.

So right there I reasoned that now I could better con-

trol and even manipulate him. The guilt persuaded me

to give him a chance.

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GH OS T RE C O N

At the same time, I couldn’t help but see him as a

mindless cog in the wheel of socialism. Sure, we’d build

the locals an infrastructure, but they’d screw us over and

probably forget about us after we left. Nevertheless,

Harruck billed himself as a humanitarian—one who’d

been willing to sacrifice us for his “larger cause.” You

had to love that irony.

“Here’s the plan,” I began. “You get word out to the

village elders that the Taliban blew up the bridge and tried

to frame some of the local merchants. That way we save

face with Kundi and the rest of those idiots in the town.”

“I don’t think they’ll go for it.”

“Doesn’t matter. All we need is doubt. Just make

them think everyoneis lying. Now, with the bridge out,

you’ll have a little more freedom to begin construction,

because the Taliban will use the shallowest part of the

river to cross, and they’ll have to move through the east

side and approach through the valley and our choke

point, so you guys can better defend against them now.

I’ll help your men set up some overwatch positions and

some gun emplacements.”

“So you knew that blowing that bridge would actu-

ally help my construction project?”

“Yeah, I did.”

“Then why didn’t you tell me?”

“I don’t know, Simon. You pissed me off the last time

we talked, all right?”

He flumped into his chair. “I still can’t have you

going into Sangsar and raising hell. And now that you’ve

blown the bridge, they’ll attack us again.”

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91

“Let them. They have to fight on our terms now.

Zahed’s army will get smaller and demoralized, and

then we’ll swoop in.”

“I can’t see this ending well, Scott.”

“It’s hard to see right now.” I found myself quoting

Keating and hating myself for that. “Our situation is

complicated.” I started for the door.

“So we have an agreement?”

I turned back. “What?”

“We call the chopper pickup a miscommunication, and

from here on out, I won’t interfere with your mission.”

“You’re damned right you won’t.”

“But can you do me a favor?”

I almost chuckled, and there was no hiding my sar-

casm. “Sure, we’re still bestest buddies.”

“Try contacting Zahed.”

“Excuse me?”

“Try to make direct contact with him. Maybe we can

call a truce. If we can get him talking, maybe your mis-

sion can change.”

“He’s a terrorist.”

“That hasn’t been proven.”

“I plucked a little girl out of there—and she told me

he’s a scumbag terrorist. That’s definitive.”

In truth, she hadn’t uttered a word about Zahed him-

self, but her eyes had told me enough.

Harruck went on with his speculation. “Maybe he

doesn’t have full control of his men. He’s a politician,

too. He wouldn’t condone that.”

“So it’s okay that I talk to the leader of an insurgency

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GH OS T RE C O N

who rapes children in the name of saving these other

children over here.”

“Scott, we can debate this all night.”

“No, we can’t. And we won’t. The fat man will be

captured or killed before I leave. And if he’s not, then

I’ll be the one leaving in a body bag.”

I hurried out into the cooler air as two Hummers

came rolling by. Harruck had put the entire base on

alert, and all the engines and shouting made me wince. I

couldn’t wait to collapse into my rack. Maybe I’d wake

up back in North Carolina. I could tell Auntie Em that

I’d had a terrible dream about a sandstorm that had car-

ried me away to a land where camels had wings and no

one told the truth.

NINE

The next morning while I was in the mess hall, I ran

into Dr. Anderson, the woman from ARO, who’d been

given temporary quarters on the base to begin coordi-

nating with the engineers for the construction projects.

She remembered my name. I called her Dr. Anderson.

I didn’t want to get too chummy with her.

“Eating alone?” she asked.

My team had already chowed down, allowing me to

sleep in. They’d understood the night I’d had.

“Yes, I am.”

“Want some company?” she asked.

I glimpsed her blond hair, now flowing easily over her

shoulders. No veil required here. She was probably in

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GH OS T RE C O N

her late twenties, early thirties. Just stunning. An oasis.

“Oh, I wouldn’t be good company right now.”

“Don’t underestimate yourself,” she said, following

me to my table and sitting across from me.

“Aggressive,” I muttered.

“I eat my dead.”

“Not bad—”

“For a bleeding-heart liberal, right?”

“I didn’t say that.”

She smiled. “Your expression did.”

“I told you, I’m not good company.”

“I don’t need your permission.”

“Then why’d you ask? What is this?”

“This is me taking on a challenge.”

“Oh, yeah, what’s that?”

“I don’t know what it is you do here, but I guess you

have some pull with Captain Harruck, and he’s a great

guy, doing everything he can to help these people. So

I’m wondering why you don’t support him.”

“So the challenge is to get me talking so you can find

out who your enemies might be on the base?”

“That’s how we recon. Same as you, actually. Keep

your enemies close, too.”

“I’m not your enemy. Just a skeptic.”

She took a bite of her toast, sipped her black coffee.

“And why is that?”

“I could tell you . . .”

“But then you’d have to . . .”

“No, not kill you . . . just start an argument, and it’s

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95

not worth it. I’m just here to get a job done, and when

I’m finished, I go on to the next problem.”

“Me, too.” She stared out the window at the dust blow-

ing across the road. “This place . . . it has a way of drain-

ing all your energy. Some days I just feel like sleeping.”

“Yeah, I know what you mean.”

“So you think I’m wasting my time, don’t you? You

think we’re all just spinning our wheels.”

I didn’t look up, just ate my toast and found great

interest in the black pool of my coffee.

“Scott, maybe in the end we can do more good by

showing kindness,” she added.

“We’re a fighting force, trained for battle, not police

work. These people need a police force and a better army

to protect them, and then people like you can come and

offer aid. We’re doing it all for them right now, and

when we pull out, you watch . . . it’ll all crumble.”

The guys decided that they hated Harruck. I couldn’t

blame them. I shared what Keating had told me. They

snorted, cursed, wished we had beer.

At the same time, they were getting cabin fever, so I

told them we’d bend orders and don regular Army uni-

forms and pose as grunts to assist with arranging and

constructing defensive positions along the choke point

near the river.

“We just finished telling you how much we hate Har-

ruck,” said Brown. “Now you want us to help him?”

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I smiled. “That’s right. Don’t you love this place?”

They threw up their hands.

I put Ramirez in charge and sent my boys out there

to help a few sergeants, who were glad to have more

hands on shovels in the one-hundred-plus-degree heat.

Meanwhile, I paid a long overdue visit to our friendly

neighborhood CIA agent, a guy who called himself

“Bronco.” I wasn’t keen on working with those bas-

tards, but I figured the least I could do was feel him out.

I’d thought his agency wanted Zahed as much as I did,

so we had a common goal.

Bronco didn’t live on the base but paid rent for a one-

room shack on the west side of the village. He’d been

working the district for the past two years and had,

according to Harruck, earned the respect of Kundi and

the rest of the elders.

I found him sitting outside his shack, reading a book

and smoking a filterless cigarette. His gray beard, sun-

weathered skin, and turban made it hard to discern him

as an American. I’d taken a private with me for security

and had donned regular Army gear myself.

Bronco took a long pull on his cigarette, flicked it

away, then exhaled loudly and spoke in Pashto. “Good

morning, gentlemen. What do you want?”

I answered in English. “My name’s Scott. I was hop-

ing we could go inside and talk in private.”

“You’re not the asshole who blew up our bridge, are

you?”

“I can neither confirm nor deny any information you

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97

have regarding bridges in this region,” I answered curtly,

then gave him my lucky fuck-you smile.

He rolled his eyes. “Come on in, Joe.”

“Scott.”

“No, Joe.”

We went in, and I wasn’t sure how a human being

could live like that. One meager bed, small washbasin, a

table, and two chairs. No power, no running water. He

did have natural gas to cook, but that was about it. A

laptop with satellite link sat improbably on the table, and

he told me had a dozen solar-powered batteries to keep

the thing running—his lifeline to home. He plopped

into a chair.

“I’m surprised they didn’t attach me to your mis-

sion,” he said suddenly.

“And what mission would that be?”

“Cut the crap. You’re an SF guy come here to take

out Zahed. He knew you were coming. We knew you

were coming. No one wants you here. No one needs you

here. So what the hell are you doing here?”

I started laughing and looked around. “I keep asking

myself the same question.”

“Go home, Joe.”

“Aren’t you here with the same agenda?”

He just stared at me. Squinted, really, deep lines

creasing his face. “I can neither confirm nor deny any

information I have regarding the whereabouts or

intended capture of Zahed.”

“All right. You’re me. What do you do?”

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GH OS T RE C O N

“Are you deaf? Go home, Joe.”

“You don’t think removing Zahed will have any effect

on what’s happening here?”

“Yeah, actually I do. This place will tank even more.”

“You don’t think capturing him will gain us valuable

information regarding the Taliban’s activities in this

region?”

“Nope. We got predators flying around, watching

every move they make. We don’t need one fat man to

spill his guts.”

“So you’re JAFO.”

His was old enough and experienced enough to know

the term: Just Another Fucking Observer.

“What’s happening here is a little too complex for the

average military mind to grasp. I’m sure you saw the

PowerPoint they made. That’s why I’m here. We’re not

JAFOs. We’re specialists. You guys are just overpaid

assassins. And you’re what? Oh for two on night raids

now? I mean, that’s amateur crap. Really.”

“I was hoping we could share some intel, so that the

next time something happens, it’ll be the last.”

“Of course you were.”

“I need to know whether or not your agency will

pose any interference with my mission.”

He threw his head back and cackled at that.

I just stood there.

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,

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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.

I was in my quarters, reviewing all the data Army intel-

ligence had gathered from the aforementioned Predator

drones, when Harruck arrived. He stood in the doorway

with the XO at his shoulder.

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105

“Next time you head into town, I’ll need you with a

more heavily armed escort,” he said tersely.

“Next time I’ll ride my bike. Then again, they might

try to blow that up, too.”

“Well, there it is, Scott. Before you got here, my patrols

were attacked two, maybe three times at the most. Now

it’s begun.”

“You know, I actually considered what you said—

putting the word out to Zahed. But I can’t even find a

way to do that.”

“You can’t stop trying.”

“I want to meet with Kundi and the provincial

governor—what the hell’s his name again?”

“You mean the district governor. Naimut Gul,” he

said. “And they call the meeting a shura. And there’s no

reason for you to meet with either of them. I’m taking

care of all that, and within the next week I’ll have a

document signed by all twelve elders.”

“You going to get Zahed to sign it, too?”

He just glared at me. “I assume you spoke to Bronco?”

“You think I wouldn’t?”

Harruck grinned weakly. “He’s no help. I’ve already

tried. His buddies in Kandahar handle our prisoners,

and that’s about the extent of it. I think they’re working

on something with the opium trade that goes way over

Zahed’s head.”

“Have you tried tailing him?”

“Who? Bronco? I don’t have the resources.”

“I do. Maybe I’m not your biggest problem here,

Simon. Maybe he is . . .”

106 GH OS T RE CON

“The agency’s got its own agenda, no doubt. I even

heard a rumor about the NSA having field agents out

here, but I think my mission is too damned simple to be

on their radar.”

“You never know . . .”

I spent about a week laying low and examining imagery

from the drones, trying to pick out Zahed among the

thousands of people living in his village. Twice, I’d thought

I’d seen him in the bazaar, but I couldn’t be sure. A half

dozen Army intelligence analysts back home were doing

the same thing, but I always thought a guy behind a desk

somewhere in Virginia might not notice the same things as

a grunt in the sand.

My Ghosts continued to pose as regular Army and help

with defenses along the defile leading down into Senjaray.

Harruck’s patrols were harassed by gunfire a few more

times, but no one was hurt, and the attackers, after firing a

few rounds, fled before they could be caught. I contended

that teenagers sympathetic to the Taliban were to blame.

Anderson, along with the Army Corps of Engineers

and a half dozen other aid groups, began moving in

building materials and breaking ground for the school

and the police station, which would be constructed

directly north of the defile so that locals could best

defend them from attack.

Our replacement Cross-Coms arrived, but I was hesi-

tant to have the guys use them until we pinpointed the

source of the disruption.

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107

I assigned Ramirez and Beasley to maintain surveil-

lance on Bronco, who’d been spending a lot of time with

landowner Kundi, water man Burki, and a few more of

the elders from Senjaray and the other towns in the dis-

trict.

Bronco hadn’t gone over to Sangsar, as I suspected he

would. Ramirez told me that the engineers had assessed

the damage we’d caused to the bridge and estimated it

would take four to six months to complete repairs. We

wouldn’t be in country long enough to see that happen,

I assured him.

One night I took a four-man team into the mountains

to run some long-range surveillance via Cypher drone

and make another attempt to lure out the Taliban and

their disruption devices. Nolan flew the drone in low

enough for them to have heard and seen it, but there was

no response.

“Ghost Lead, this is Jenkins. Suggest we move in past

the wall, over.”

The guys were trying to goad me into a close recon of

the village, but they always did that. They’d grown rest-

less and longed for the sound of gunfire. They didn’t

need good intel or just cause—just a clear night and full

magazines. I was supposed to think responsibly.

“Negative. Hold position.”

“You’re not listening to Harruck, are you?” Ramirez

whispered to me from his position at my elbow.

“No reason to swat the hornets yet,” I said.

108 GH OS T RE CON

“I don’t know, boss. Something’s gotta give.”

I glanced over at him; he was right.

The next morning, Marcus Brown woke me from a sound

sleep. There was trouble out in the old poppy field where

the Army engineers had proposed to drill the next well.

Kundi was there, causing a big ruckus, as were Har-

ruck, Anderson, and a half dozen other engineers and

construction supervisors.

Brown and I drove out there, and Harruck pulled me

aside and told me I “wasn’t involved.”

“That’s fine. So I’ll just watch. And listen,” I told

him, my tone making it clear that I wasn’t going any-

where.

“So what’s the bottom line?” one of the Army engi-

neers asked Kundi.

“That’s it,” said Kundi, who was waving his hand

over the broad area within which the drilling would

occur. About fifty yards to the south lay the base of the

foothills—a mottled brown moonscape of pockmarks

and stones rising up toward orange-colored peaks. “You

cannot put the well here. Over there, on the other side

of the field, yes.”

“But we’ll have to drill a lot deeper over there,” said

the engineer.

Kundi shook his head.

“Why not? Is this some kind of sacred ground?”

Kundi frowned and looked over to Burki, who in turn

cast a quizzical glance at Shilmani, whom they’d obviously

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109

brought along to translate. He did, and Kundi nodded

vigorously. “Yes, yes. God is here!”

I turned to Brown. “You know what God wants? He

wants ground-penetrating radar and metal detectors all

over this area.”

Brown nodded. “Hallelujah.”

A couple of days later, Harruck caught up with me in the

mess hall and wanted an explanation for my request to

have a team go out into the field with radar units and

metal detectors. I’d had to put in those requests through

regular Army channels, Gordon had told me, so Har-

ruck’s interference came as little surprise.

“Kundi’s hiding something out there,” I said.

“So what if he is?” Harruck asked. “If we instigate

him, the agreement goes south.”

“We need to have a look.”

“We’re telling him we don’t trust him if we got guys

sweeping the ground out there.”

“Tell him I lost my watch.”

“Don’t be an ass, Scott. Who knows why he doesn’t

want a well over there? Maybe he plans to grow cannabis

there, plant cherry trees, who knows? So we move the

well to the other side of the field. No big deal. Drill a

little deeper. If he’s got a bone buried—or an opium

stash—out there, I don’t want to know about it. Not

right now, anyway.”

“So you’ll look the other way on that, too.”

“I’m just taking my time. So should you . . .”

110 GH OS T RE CON

“That a threat? Because we both know where this

will go.”

“Scott, this whole damned country is full of thugs

and gangsters. You’ll run out of fingers to point. So let’s

move on.”

Harruck took his tray to another table to join the rest

of his officers. Anderson was at a nearby table, and she

came over to me and said, “Have you seen the site yet?

We’re breaking ground for the school.”

I shook my head.

“You look finished here. Why don’t you come out

and take a look?”

I shrugged and followed her outside. She had a civil-

ian car, a Pathfinder, and she drove me over to the con-

struction site, where at least fifty workers were placing

broad wooden footers in the ground. Several concrete

trucks were parked behind us, and piles of rebar and pal-

lets of concrete blocks were stacked in long rows.

“All these guys that you hired . . . they’re from the

village?”

“Some from this one . . . some from the others . . .

but we’ve had a little problem, which is really why I

brought you out here . . .”

“You weren’t trying to soften me up? Turn me into a

humanitarian or something?”

“No. I need you to be a killer.”

“Excuse me?”

“Oh, I figure you’re intel or spec ops or something . . .”

“I’m just an adviser.”

“Right . . .”

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111

“How many classrooms in this building?”

“Six. It’s going to be beautiful when we’re done. And

the police station will be right out there. See the stakes?”

I shielded my eyes from the glare and noted the wooden

stakes that outlined the L-shaped building.

“Yeah, we’re going to build it, and they’ll come and

blow it back up.”

“You mean Zahed?”

I shrugged.

“Maybe not. I think Zahed is forcing the workers to

give some of their pay to the Taliban. And I think when

the school and the police station open, he’ll try to con-

trol the police. He’ll close down the school, too, but not

right away—if he thinks he can make a buck.”

“What makes you think he’s blackmailing the work-

ers?”

“At the end of the week when they’re paid, three men

come around, and they form a line. I’ve seen them giv-

ing some of their money to those guys.”

“You pay them in afghanis?”

“It’s the only way.”

“Tell you what? The next time that happens, come

find me. I’ll have a talk with them.”

“Thanks.”

“Why didn’t you bring this to Captain Harruck?”

“I did. He told me that it wasn’t any of my business

what the workers did with their money.”

“Maybe it isn’t.”

“I just . . . I don’t like it. Feels like we’re in bed with

the Taliban.”

112 GH OS T RE CON

I grinned crookedly and told her I needed to get

back.

Three things happened at once when I reached my quar-

ters:

Nolan was telling me I had an urgent call from Lieu-

tenant Colonel Gordon . . .

Bronco had come onto the base and was screaming at

me to have my two bulldogs chained up and to stop fol-

lowing him . . .

And a young captain I’d trained myself at Robin

Sage, Fred Warris, was standing at my door, waiting to

speak to me.

In fact, he was in the same training class that Har-

ruck and I had taught, which I initially thought was a

coincidence. I’d heard that Warris had gone on to

become a Ghost leader, so his presence outside my billet

was suspicious . . . and strange.

I lifted a palm as all three men vied for my attention,

but Nolan shouted:

“Sir, like I said . . . it’s urgent. Something about your

father back home.”

ELEVEN

Nolan told me the call had come from the comm center,

so I ran across the base, leaving the shouters behind. I

reached the center and discovered that Gordon was on a

webcam and seated at his desk back at Fort Bragg. He

wanted to talk to me “face to face.”

I shuddered as I sat before the monitor and tried to

catch my breath. “Sir . . .”

His voice echoed off the steel walls of the Quonset

hut. “Scott, I’m afraid I’ve got some bad news about

your dad. He’s in the hospital, intensive care. He’s had a

heart attack.”

“Who called you?”

“We got word from your sister.”

“Wait a second . . .” I cocked my thumb over my

114 GH OS T RE CON

shoulder. “Warris is back at my . . . how long ago did

this happen?”

“I’m not sure. Last night? Yesterday afternoon, she

didn’t say.”

“And so you’ve sent Warris to relieve me?”

“Actually, I didn’t. I sent him to serve as a liaison

officer between you and Harruck.”

“A what?”

“Well, we wanted to limit your contact with Captain

Harruck. The general’s deeply concerned about the situ-

ation there. The idea was that all communications with

Captain Harruck would go through Captain Warris.

But now I’d understand if you want to take an emer-

gency leave and go home.”

A vein began throbbing in my temple. “Sir, I’d like to

talk to my sister before I make that decision.”

“I understand. And I’m sorry about your dad.”

“Sir, I’m sorry about Captain Warris being here. He’s

too valuable to be a liaison officer.”

“Mincing words with the old man?” Gordon smiled.

“I know you think this is bullshit, but I gotta do some-

thing to defuse what’s going on out there. Harruck’s

pounding hard, so we’ll let Warris act as the go-between.”

“I don’t need a go-between.”

“Apparently, you do.”

I glanced around, groping for a response, anything,

but then I just sighed in disgust. “Yes, sir.”

“Why don’t you take the leave right now, Scott?”

“Because . . .”

He sat there, waiting for me to finish.

CO MB AT O P S

115

“Because I still want to believe that my mission means

something, that capturing the target will make a differ-

ence, and that the United States Army hasn’t sold its

soul to the devil. Sir.”