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He sensed it coming. “Do it. Do us both a favor.”

“Mitchell?” cried Harruck.

He kept calling me by name in front of everyone, but

who was I to argue at that point? They were going to

dump it all on me anyway. I staggered over there like a

drunk and didn’t realize I was favoring one leg until

another pain needled up the hip and into my spine.

“Why were the minesweepers out here?”

I played dumb. “Uh, you told me you were going to

find out.”

“They had specific orders to sweep the other part of

the field.”

“Wish I could help you.”

“No, you don’t.”

I stood there, my gaze traveling a thousand miles

away.

“Scott?”

I finally looked at him. “What?”

“I want an answer.”

“I don’t know why the sweepers were here. And I

guess you can’t ask them. Maybe they got lost. Or maybe

they wanted to check out this side of the field, too. Who

knows . . .”

“You sent them here, didn’t you?”

“Guys, let’s get this under control,” said Warris.

Harruck looked at him, cursed, then told him to shut

the hell up.

Warris recoiled, stunned.

“I need to be with my men,” I said, my tone growing

even more sarcastic.

138 GH OS T RE CON

“And I need an answer,” snapped Harruck.

“All right, let’s cut to the chase, then,” I said. “I got

a four-star behind me and my mission. And I was per-

fectly within my mission’s envelope when I ordered the

field searched. I was defending my perimeter and pro-

tecting my men. The problem here is mission conflict.

All three of us are doing exactly what we should be

doing—which is why we’ve got a problem.”

“Why didn’t you notify me of what you did?” Har-

ruck asked.

“I would have . . . eventually.”

He gave a slight snort. “Well, I got the entire United

States Army supporting my mission, Scott. And it will

take precedence.”

Kundi drifted over to me and raised his finger. “You

went with Bronco. You talked to my father. You know

the right thing to do now. These weapons belong to us.

Don’t let anyone take them.”

“What’s he talking about?” Harruck asked.

“I don’t know. They smoke a lot of opium here. They

forget things.”

“This isn’t over, Scott. It’s just begun.”

I winced in pain. The leg again. “I hear you.”

“I’ll get with you later,” said Harruck.

“So will I,” Warris added.

I made a face. “I’ll be at the hospital if you need me.”

I took a detour before getting treated. I went back to the

comm center and called Gordon. I updated him and asked

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139

for anything he could dig up about Bronco and any con-

nection the spook might have to Zahed and the technol-

ogy industry. “I think he has something to do with the

EMP knocking out our Cross-Coms—if it’s EMP at all.”

“I’ll see what I can do.”

“Thanks, and oh, yeah, Warris tells me he’s in com-

mand.”

Gordon’s expression turned guilty. “Not exactly.”

“Good, then I’m exactly in command. Does that

make sense to you, sir? Two officers, one in command,

the other not exactly in command?”

“Mitchell, we knew how difficult this job could

become. That’s why we picked you for it. And you’re the

last guy on earth I thought would be bothered by the

politics. Everyone’s a bad guy there.”

“Even me?”

He nearly smiled. “Even you.”

“And you still believe that Zahed is the target and I

need to capture or kill him?”

“Absolutely. Without any doubt.”

“And what will that change?”

“Say again?”

He’d heard me. He couldn’t believe I was asking. I

sharpened my tone. “Sir, I asked what will capturing or

killing Zahed change?”

“Yours is not to question why but to do or die, sol-

dier.”

“Well, if we get him, then that’s one less terrorist

here, right? Oh, I forgot, we don’t have confirmation

that he’s actually a terrorist.”

140 GH OS T RE CON

“He’s scum. You said so yourself.”

“I did. But frankly, sir, there are too many people

attempting to undermine my mission. I’m losing confi­

dence in my ability to complete it and I’m concerned

about our contribution to the overall effort here.”

“What the hell is that?” he cried. “The Ghosts fear no

one! Don’t throw that crap at me. You will complete your

mission—but if you’re telling me right now you want

out, I’ll relieve you on the spot and give it to Warris.”

“He’s a yes man for Harruck, so you won’t get jack if

you give it to him. He’s not playing for us anymore, sir.

Somebody got to him.”

“Are you serious?”

“As a heart attack, sir. And now I’m supposed to go

through him before making a move. I’m letting you

know right now that I can’t do that.”

“I understand. Unless your OPORDER changes, you

stay on target, all right?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Any more news about your dad?”

I told him about my conversation with my sister. We

were waiting to hear more.

Most of my guys picked up minor wounds, as I did, and

the doctor was able to remove the pieces of shrapnel

from my legs and stitch me up. He’d asked about the

scar on my chest, as I suspected he would.

All I said was that I’d been serving in the Philippines

and been stabbed with a very interesting sword shaped

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141

like a Chinese character. The weapon was now resting

comfortably in a glass case at an old friend’s house.

After all these years, the scar still itched. And I could

still see Fang Zhi’s eyes as he’d thrust the blade into me.

I was just a kid back then. And the missions seemed

crystal clear. Ironically, Fang Zhi had questioned his

own commanders’ orders and become torn over his duty

versus the lives of the men in his charge. Though I don’t

regret killing him, I better understood his position after

spending time in Afghanistan.

Back in our billet, most of the guys were sitting on their

bunks, staring blankly or rubbing the corners of their

eyes and trying not to lose it. We’d been a closely knit

team for the past two years. We’d lost a family member.

“We need to get out there tonight and get some,”

said Ramirez, just after I entered. “They need to pay for

killing Matt.”

The response was natural, rudimentary, entirely

human, and I felt the same—despite its sounding like a

knee-jerk reaction of less experienced soldiers.

Hume, Nolan, and Brown began nodding. Treehorn

joined them. Jenkins, the biggest, most intimidating

guy on the team, started crying. Smith, who was near

him, offered a few words of encouragement.

Master Sergeant Matt Beasley had hailed from

Detroit, had tooled around the ’hood in a Harley Sport-

ster, and was a latchkey kid who’d made a name for him-

self in the Army. I don’t expect my words to do him