being used by the Taliban?”

“You’re talking Star Trek to 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.

CO MB AT O P S

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