Hamid nodded to drive the point home.

“Do you know if he is working with al Qaeda?”

“He is not. He is not a terrorist.”

“Hamid, forgive me, but I don’t understand why

your people support him. He’s a military dictator.”

“He comes from a long line of great men. The people

in his village are very happy, safe, and secure. All we want

is the same. We did not ask you to come here. We do not

want you here. We would be happier if you went home.”

“But look at what we’re doing for you . . .”

The old man pursed his lips and sighed. “That is not

help. That is a political game. I had this very same con-

versation with a Russian commander many years ago.

And he thought just like you . . .”

A muffled shout from outside wafted in from the

window. “Hasten to prayer.”

Bronco looked at me, and we quickly excused our-

selves and headed out while they began their prayers.

122 GH OS T RE CON

Back in the courtyard, the old agent turned to me

and said, “Do you see the nut you’re trying to crack?

These guys are all family, brothers in arms, old Soviet

fighters. They bled together. You think they’ll go against

Zahed? Not in a million years.”

“Then what’re you doing here?”

“My job.”

“Which is . . .”

“Which is making sure you dumb-ass Joes don’t fuck

this all up.”

“What’s this? Having villages controlled by the Tal-

iban? Little girls raped?”

“What if I told you Zahed works for us?”

“I’d say you’re full of it.”

“Money talks, right?”

“He’s not a terrorist.”

“Why should I believe you?”

“Because if you do, you have a better chance of stay-

ing alive.”

“So now you want to help me stay alive? I thought

you wanted me to go home.”

“Going home will keep you alive.”

“Sorry, buddy, can’t help you there.”

“Well, then, Captain Mitchell, I guess we should

head back to my car.”

I froze. “How do you know my name?”

“Captain Scott Mitchell. Ghost Leader. The elite unit

that”—he made quote marks with his fingers—“doesn’t

exist. Top secret. Well, we’re the goddamned CIA, and

no one keeps secrets from us.”

CO MB AT O P S

123

I had to smirk. I’d tried to dig up intel on him and

come up empty.

His tone softened, if only a little. “Years ago, you

rescued a couple of buddies of mine in Waziristan. Saenz

and Vick. They weren’t too thrilled about the rescue

itself, but you saved their lives—which is why I figure I

can return the favor. If you stick around long enough,

they’ll put a target on your head.”

“I’ve been wearing one of those for a lot of years.”

“Look, you must be a smart guy. Go call your boss.

Tell him this mission is a dead end. Literally. Get out

while you still can.”

“Whoa, I’m scared.”

“Turn around and look up.”

I did. There was a Taliban fighter with an AK-47

standing on the roof, his weapon aimed at my head. And

no, he was not hastening to prayer.

“See what I mean? They’re giving you a chance to bail,

and they’re doing that as a favor to me. But if you decide

to stay and attempt to carry out your mission, then I won’t

be able to help you. I want to be very clear about that.”

“How can you do this with a clear conscience?”

“Do what?”

“Betray your country.”

“Are you serious? Come on . . .” He spun on his san-

dal and shuffled off.

I glanced back at the Taliban fighter, whose eyes wid-

ened above his shemagh.

T WELVE

I kept quiet during the ride back to the base, and as I

got out of the car near the main gate, Bronco started to

say something, but I cut him off. “I appreciate what

you’re trying to do.”

“Then do the right thing. This ain’t worth it. And if

you think you can beat them with all your fancy gadgets

and gizmos, think again, right?”

“Are you helping Zahed?”

“Me?”

“I’m asking you a direct question. Yes? Or no?”

“No.”

“Why do I find that hard to believe?”

“Listen to me, Joe. Don’t let your ego get in the way

here. They gave you a mission, but they don’t understand.

CO MB AT O P S

125

They didn’t give you orders to upset the balance

here.”

“Balance?”

“Yeah. You might think this doesn’t work, but to

these people, it ain’t half bad.”

I smirked, slammed the door, and walked on toward

the gate. The mine-sweeping team was just coming in as

well, and I asked a lieutenant at the Hummer’s wheel

how they’d made out.

The skinny redhead wiped a bead of sweat from his

brow and answered, “Looked clear to us.”

“Hey, can you do me a favor and sweep the original

zone?”

“You mean where we were supposed to drill?”

“Yeah.”

“I’m sorry, sir, but I haven’t received orders or autho-

rization to do that.”

“Yeah, but it wouldn’t take long, right? Thirty min-

utes? I mean you’re all loaded up already.”

He grinned slyly. “You think those bastards are hid-

ing something out there, don’t you?”

“I know they are.”

“I’m surprised Captain Harruck didn’t ask us to

sweep it.”

“That hottie Anderson is keeping him real busy

now,” I said.

“Oh, yeah, she’s hot.”

“Australian accent. What an ass on her, too.”

I was talking his talk. He wriggled his brows. “Tell you

what, we’ll give it a quick look. I’m sure the CO would

126 GH OS T RE CON

make us check it out eventually.” He threw his truck in

reverse, backed out, and started away from the gate.

Damn, I thought. I didn’t think he’d go for it. Now I

was committed to the plan.

I watched them leave, then hurried back to our billet,

where inside, the guys were doing the usual: reading,

playing computer games on their iPods, cleaning weap-

ons, and/or creating battle profiles for our Cross-Coms,

something Nolan truly enjoyed. We always killed more

time than enemy insurgents. So it was in the Army. Hurry

up and wait.

Ramirez and Warris were seated at the small confer-

ence table near the door, and Ramirez gave me a sour

look as I entered. “What’s up?”

“Sir, just had a nice, long talk with Captain Warris.

Seems he’s in charge now.”

“Say again?”

“That’s not exactly true,” said Warris.

I quickly said, “Gordon told me you’re our new—”

“Liaison officer?” Warris finished. “Yeah, well, that

was the initial thought. They say they won’t relieve you

of command, Mitchell, but I’ve been told that anything

and everything you do must be screened through me

first, and at that point I’ll bring it up with Harruck. I’m

sorry. I know how this is. But they were emphatic.”

“Outside,” I snapped.

“Excuse me?”

“I said, out . . . side . . . do you read me?”

“Whoa. You’d better check the registry.”

“Not now, son.”