Every time we attacked the Taliban, they would regroup,

re-arm, and counterattack.

What were we expecting? That our attacks would so

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247

demoralize them that they would convert to Christian-

ity and pledge to become loyal Wal-Mart customers?

I didn’t know what time I finally fell asleep, but my

watch read seven forty-one A.M. local time when the first

explosions had me snapping open my eyes.

Ironically, the guys weren’t springing out of their

bunks but slowly rising, cursing, and Treehorn yawned

and said, “And that’s the morning alarm clock, Taliban

style.”

We ran outside, bare-chested, wearing only our box-

ers and brandishing our rifles.

I took in the situation all at once—front gate blown

to smithereens, guard house on fire, gate falling inward.

Machine gunners in the nests were focusing their fire on

two small sedans, taxis from Kandahar, I guessed, one

of which had probably carried the gate bomber.

An RPG screamed across the base and struck one of

the barracks, tearing a gaping hole in one side and explod-

ing within.

Sergeants were screaming for all the gunners to cease

fire, and within thirty more seconds, it was over.

No gunfire, just more shouting, the hiss and pop of

fires, personnel running in multiple directions like ants

fleeing a sprinkler’s flood. We all stood outside the bil-

let, and after another moment I reasoned there wasn’t

anything else we could do, so I motioned for the guys to

get back inside and get dressed and we’d head over to

the barracks that’d been hit. Ramirez was last to go back

in. He hesitated, then turned back to me. “Scott, I,

uh . . . thanks for keeping all this between us.”

248 GH OS T RE CON

I pursed my lips and forced a nod.

“I’m sorry.”

My breath shortened. “Okay.”

By the time we reached the barracks, all the fires had

been put out and we were asked to remain along a piece

of tape cordoning off the area. Harruck was there and

told me the attack was against Gul. “We got a warning

yesterday that if we didn’t turn over the governor, we’d

be attacked.”

“Why didn’t you give me a heads-up?”

“Because I’ve been getting those warnings all the

time. Most of them are fake or they don’t act on them.

They order us to leave, say they’ll attack the next day,

and they don’t.”

“Anyone hurt?”

“Lost two more at the gate. Damn it. Barracks was

empty, thank God. They were already up for chow, and

the governor is staying on the other side, up near the

gunner’s nest.”

“Good idea. How’d they get so close to the gate

again?”

“Gul’s got people coming and going all day. I’m set-

ting up a new roadblock. They’ll need to get past there

first before they get near the gate.”

“Could’ve done that in the first place.”

“Didn’t see the need till now.”

I sighed. “Live and learn. And Simon, in a little while

I’m going over to see Shilmani. All they told me was

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249

that they’d set up the meeting with Zahed ‘soon.’ I’m

going to tell them they’ve got twenty-four hours.”

The XO came dashing over and faced me. “Captain?

There’s a call for you in the comm center.”

The call was from General Keating. I wasn’t surprised.

Harruck had been forced to release Bronco and his buddy,

Mike, after a couple of big shots from the agency flew in

from Kandahar and raised hell. Keating, for his part, was

ducking from the piles of dung being hurtled at him from

our competing agencies. He just wanted to get me in on

the fun.

“I don’t care what they’re telling me, Mitchell. If you

can get in there, get our boy out, and drop the fat man

at the same time, then we’ve done our job. They’re try-

ing to persuade me to think about this big picture while

they cut deals with terrorists and drug runners, but

that’s not the way we operate, is it?”

“No, sir.”

“Very well, then. Where are we now?”

“Other than what I put in my report?”

“Frankly, Mitchell, I haven’t had time to read your

report. I’ve had the CIA barking in my ear for two

hours.”

“We took out the cave network. I lost a guy doing it.

We intercepted an agent.”

“Yeah, yeah, I know all about that.”

“And now I’m working on a meeting with the fat

man himself.”

250 GH OS T RE CON

“How the hell will you pull that off?”

“Just leave it to me, sir.”

“And just what do you plan to talk about?”

“I don’t plan to talk about anything, sir, if you hear

me clearly.”

“Loud and clear, son. Loud and clear.”

Treehorn and I went back out to see Burki and Shilmani.

More tea. More idle conversation, until a very tall, very

lean man with a wispy beard arrived and sat with us.

“This is my cousin. He does not wish you to know his

name.”

“So what do we call him?” asked Treehorn.

Shilmani posed that question to the man, who

answered rapidly in Pashto. Shilmani glanced up and

said, “You can just call him Muji.”

“Tell him that’s kind of a slang phrase for Mujaha-

deen fighters.”

Shilmani did, then faced us. “He knows. His grand-

father was one.”

“Okay. Tell him I need to see Zahed right away.”

Shilmani spoke with Muji at length, and all Treehorn

and I could do was sit there, sipping tea. The conversa-

tion sounded like a debate, and finally Shilmani regarded

me with a frustrated look. “Maybe tomorrow.”

“I have to see him by tomorrow. No later. Tell him

that there is no time to waste. I mean it.”

After a brief exchange, Muji rose, nodded, and hur-

ried out of the shack.

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251

“I want you to come to my house for dinner,” said

Shilmani. “Your friend can come, too.”

“Why’s that?” asked Treehorn. “You think that this

will be our last meal?”

“It could be, and I must tell you now that your plan

to put a bullet in Zahed’s head will not work. You need

something better. My cousin tells me that no one sees

Zahed now without being strip-searched first. Perhaps

your weapon could be poison, or something as easily

concealed.”

“We’ll think about it. What time tonight?”

“Sundown.”

“Okay, we’ll be there.”

We drove about a quarter mile down the road, made our

right turn to head through the bazaar area, and found

the road blockaded by two pickup trucks.

Suddenly two more sedans roared up behind us, and

Treehorn started cursing and shouted, “Ambush!”

He was about to grab his rifle and jump out of the

Hummer. I was at the wheel and told him to hang on.

“They’re not firing. Let’s see what’s up.”

I raised my palms as the men, who for all the world