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.

CO MB AT O P S

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

CO MB AT O P S

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?”