shifted around the trucks to where I spotted a shovel

stuck in the sand. The lieutenant had found something

all right, and one of his guys had begun digging.

I knew that once Kundi arrived—and no doubt Har-

ruck would, too—it’d all be over, so whatever the villag-

ers or the Taliban had buried out there needed to be

uncovered—immediately.

I’d just lost a guy, and I’d be damned if it was for

nothing. I seized the shovel and began digging like a

maniac, sand arcing through the air, while Ramirez

came over to me, wanted to know what I was doing.

“Grab the other shovel! Dig now! Dig!”

“Matt’s gone! He’s dead!”

“I know. Dig!” I cursed at him, kept digging, going

down another two feet when my shovel hit something. I

dropped to my hands and knees, dug around with my

132 GH OS T RE CON

hands, found wood. Maybe a hatch. “Got something!

Help me out!”

My gaze was torn between clearing away more dirt

and the approaching vehicles.

And now came the heavily armed and armored Hum-

mer carrying Harruck himself, streaking across the sand.

I found the edge of the hatch, a rope pull, and tugged

on it. Nothing. Just a creak. Still too much sand holding

it down.

Ramirez leaned over and began clearing sand with

his hands, and within thirty seconds we began to pull

free the wood. It finally gave and we came up with it: a

rectangular piece of plywood about three feet by four.

As dirt poured down into the hole, sunlight revealed

a wooden ladder and a chamber at least two meters deep.

I stole one more look at the pickup trucks and Harruck’s

ride, then descended the ladder. I turned around and in

the shadows saw that the chamber extended another two

or three meters to my left and was filled with cardboard

boxes and crates.

No, it wasn’t some Afghan wine cellar, that was for

sure, and what I’d uncovered was both significant and

alarming. A creak from the ladder drew my gaze, and

Harruck reached the bottom, turned, and let his gaze

drift past me.

Another man I didn’t recognize reached the bottom

of the ladder. He was middle-aged, had a thick mus-

tache, and wore a green uniform with red insignia on

the shoulders: AFGHAN NATIONAL POLICE.

“It’s all American,” I said, my voice cracking. “Probably

CO MB AT O P S

133

a hundred rifles or more. Thousands of rounds of ammo.

Grenades, gas masks . . . all stuff that was meant for the

national army and the police.”

“I agree,” said the man in uniform. He looked at me.

“I am Shafiq, the new police chief here in Senjaray.”

Harruck spun around, his eyes now glassy, his cheeks

turning red. “Mitchell, get your people back to the base.

We’ll take over from here. I’ll work this out with Cap-

tain Warris.”

“Yes, sir.”

He blinked hard, coughed, then looked at me, as

though to say, No argument?

But then, as I ascended the ladder, he threw a verbal

punch that I could not ignore: “I’ll find out why the

minesweepers were here, Mitchell.”

“Look around. Kundi’s been letting the Taliban store

weapons. They figured we wouldn’t look here, right out

in the open—unless of course we wanted to drill a well.

And that’s why the old man got so bent out of shape. He

was protecting his little cache here.”

“He is right,” said Shafiq.

I gave Harruck a final look and climbed out, where I

shouted for my men to rally back on our Hummer.

Nolan had already removed a body bag from the truck,

and he and Ramirez had just finished zipping up Beas-

ley. They carried his body to the flatbed and eased it

onboard.

The fires were still whipping in the breeze behind us,

the scene now like an anthill that had been disturbed.

Kundi was out near the hole, throwing his hands in the

134 GH OS T RE CON

air, along with Burki, as Warris, Harruck, and the new

police chief faced them.

Warris turned away from the group and looked at me,

and for just a moment, I thought he longed to be in my

boots, not having to deal with any of the crap.

But then, suddenly, he waved me over.

I looked over my shoulder, then back to him. Me?

He nodded.

Harruck turned around and cried, “Mitchell? We

need you over here right now!”

I liked how he called me Mitchell around everyone

else.

“You wanna just take off?” Ramirez asked me. “Screw

them all. Screw all these assholes.”

“No. You guys take Beasley back. Then get to the

hospital and get everybody else checked out. If these

idiots want to talk to me, then they’d better strap in and

get ready for the ride . . .”

I took a deep breath, winced over a shooting pain in

my leg, and marched toward them.

THIRTEEN

I wanted to beat down at least three of the four men in

front of me. I already saw them lying unconscious and

bloody.

You have to give me some credit for my honesty.

The new police chief hadn’t earned my hatred yet.

Kundi and Burki were shouting at Harruck, pointing

to the ground, and then gesturing back up to the foot-

hills.

Shilmani was there and came over to me. “The guns

belong to Kundi. He says he bought them from the Tal-

iban.”

“Do you believe that?”

“It doesn’t matter what I believe. What matters is

that you can’t take them away, but I know you will.”

136 GH OS T RE CON

I raised my chin to Harruck. “Well, he’ll have to con-

fiscate them, and no one’s going to be happy about that.”

“He speaks English?” Harruck called out to me.

“Yes, he does. His name’s Shilmani. He works for

Burki.”

“Then come over here and help me translate,” said

Harruck. “They’re talking way too fast for me.”

“Do you really need me here?” I asked Harruck.

“Yeah, I do,” he said.

Behind us, the rifle squads had finished up with their

extinguishers, and the pickup trucks and Hummer were

still smoldering. I’d grown far too used to the stench of

burning rubber.

While Harruck went back over to Kundi and the water

man, with a tense Shilmani forced to go along, I pulled

Warris aside. “Now, where were we? Oh, yeah, I was tell-

ing you that if you think I’m going to filter my plans

through you, you’re dreaming. Okay?”

“Looks like you’ve got some good plans here, too.

Pissed off the locals. Got a whole sweeper team killed,

one of your own guys killed.” He gasped. “All right,

that was too far. Sorry . . .”

“Wow, when did you grow a pair?”

He puffed air. “The situation has changed. They

brought me in here to clean up an old man’s mess. I’m

hating it. I resent you for putting me in this situation.

And every time I set eyes on you it’s an instant replay of

that ass-chewing you gave me back at Robin Sage. I still

hear about it to this day.”

I balled my hand into a fist and drew it back.