away.

He whirled back. “What?”

“They beat him up and burned our Hummer.” I

cocked a thumb at the mechanic, now sporting a bloody

bandage on his forehead. “Nice, isn’t it . . .”

“What the hell did you expect?”

I shrugged. “I don’t know.”

“Do me a favor, just . . . for now . . . don’t try to help . . .”

Harruck’s company suffered seven dead and fourteen

injured. We killed about eight or nine around the base,

with more dead in the mountains, but the Taliban recov-

ered those bodies before we could confirm the kills.

Harruck’s snipers were confident that at least four

more had been taken down. The fires had been put out,

and Harruck already had crews cleaning up the mess by

the time he returned from town and nearly broke down

the door of our billet. “Let’s go,” he snapped.

CO MB AT O P S

49

The rest of my team made faces as I followed him out

and across the base, feeling like a cherry about to be

trounced on by his CO, yet also resenting how upset

Harruck had become. He had to take his anger out on

someone, I guess. I acknowledged that he was the CO

there, and though I didn’t answer exclusively to him, I

should respect his authority despite my far greater expe-

rience. I could easily get Keating to override him, but

once I did that, our friendship would be over.

He collapsed into his chair. I took the one in front of

his dusty desk. You could still smell the ash and cinders

from the mess hall wafting in through the open window,

and a small fan pivoting to and fro on the desk didn’t

help. I stared at the fan a moment, then took a deep

breath and closed my eyes. “So, okay, buddy, let’s have it.”

When I opened my eyes, he was pouring me a drink,

then one for himself.

I took the shot, downed it quickly. He did the same,

swore, then said, “I need a miracle.”

“I thought we were going to fight.”

He shrugged. “I know where you’re coming from.

But I need to be honest with you—it looks like remov-

ing Zahed from power could do more harm than good.”

“Simon, unless you can get my orders revised, I’m

here to do one thing.”

“You haven’t met the district governor here, have

you?”

I shook my head. “Just read about him in the brief-

ing. He’s another model citizen.”

“Well, yeah, if you recall, the guy’s name is Naimut

50

GH OS T RE C O N

Gul. He came in here last year and promised these peo-

ple the world, told them the Afghan government would

help. He didn’t do anything except take their money.

He’s like a Mafia kingpin, and his word means nothing.

When the people think of the government, they see

him. He’s in bed with some of the warlords up north,

and it’s pretty damned clear he’s on the payroll for

opium production.”

I snorted. “And he’s the guy we’re trying to support.

He’s the good guy.”

Harruck cursed through a sigh. “Look, Zahed’s a

ruthless killer. His men are Huns. But the canals that

are here, the bazaar? He financed all of that, had his

people build it all. The Taliban brought in the natural

gas tanks and have been talking about getting power

lines hooked up.”

“And Kundi, our big landowner, supports all of this,”

I said.

“Here’s the thing. And I’ve been thinking about this

all day. If you take out Zahed too early—before I can

get something going here—then they’ll still hate us and

align us with the government.”

“They’ve already done that.”

“Not all of them. If we can build them their school,

their police station, and dig them a new well—and we

deliver on those promises—then the timing will be per-

fect to remove Zahed and maybe even bring in a new

governor. I’ve heard talk of that, too. Start off with a

clean slate.”

I sat back and tried to consider everything without

CO MB AT O P S

51

getting a migraine. “You want me to believe it’s all that

simple.”

“I’ve got nothing else, Scott. I can’t walk out of here

as a failure.”

“The legacy, huh?”

“This entire company is depending on me to help

them complete the mission. We’re not even close yet.”

“What if your mission is bullshit?”

“It’s not.”

“My people seem to think that if we take out the Tal-

iban leadership, we’ll be in a better position to help these

civilians—not that I agree with that, either. I mean

look . . . how are you supposed to build a school with no

assets and constant attacks from them?”

Harruck lowered his voice. “Maybe we can work with

them.”

I started laughing. “Last night I untied a girl from a

pool table, and you’re telling me you want to work with

these people?”

“Money talks.”

“Simon, if you go there, then you’re no better than

them. I’m telling you.”

“My back’s against the wall.”

A knock came at the door, and the company’s executive

officer, Martin Shoregan, peeked inside. He was a lean

black man and highly articulate, clearly being groomed

to lead a company of his own. “Sir, sorry to interrupt.

Dr. Anderson is here from the ARO.”

Harruck bolted out of his chair. “Are you kidding me?”

“Do you want me to—”

52

GH OS T RE C O N

“Send her right in!” he cried.

I glanced up at him. “Do you want me—”

“No, please stay.”

The door opened, and in stepped a woman in a green-

striped high-bodice dress with a swirling skirt and wide

shawl draped over her head. Blond hair spilled out from

the front of the shawl, and she grinned easily at us as I

rose to meet her.

“Captain Harruck?” she asked, looking at me.

I shook my head.

“I’m Captain Simon Harruck.” He proffered his

hand. “And this is a friend.”

She shook hands with Harruck, then smiled at me.

“Well, hello, friend. I guess if I get your name, then

you’ll have to kill me?”

I shrugged. “Call me Scott. Where are you from?

Australia?”

“Sydney. Very good. You?”

“I’m not here.”

She liked that. “Right . . .”

Harruck told her to take my seat, and I didn’t mind.

She was easy on the eyes.

The two exchanged a few more pleasantries, and I

learned that they’d spoken on the phone for many months.

She said she was finally able to gather the resources and

that the Afghanistan Relief Organization (ARO)—along

with more than a dozen other relief groups—was ready to

work with Army engineers on the construction of the

school, police station, and solar-powered well. All of the

agreements had been struck with the district governor and

CO MB AT O P S

53

other elders, and they should be able to break ground

within a week. Funding was finally in place.

“This is the news I’ve been waiting to hear for eight

months now,” said Harruck, his voice cracking. He

glanced over at me and nodded.

I didn’t hide my skepticism. “Dr. Anderson, I assume