They’d taken us west down A01, the main road, to a

little truck stop area where several tractor-trailers were

lined up. I wasn’t sure if the place was a gas station or

what, but I definitely knew we’d headed west because off

to the east I could see Kandahar in the far distance and

a plane taking off from the airport.

Without a word, the two men got back in the car,

threw it in gear, and left us standing there on the side of

the road, our hands still cuffed.

“What the hell?” Treehorn gasped.

I whirled, faced the truck stop. A small, blue booth

stood near several large trees whose limbs were being

thrashed in the wind. I wondered if that was a phone

booth, so I gestured with my head and Treehorn and I

started walking over there, the wind kicking sand in our

faces.

From behind several of the parked trailers came a half

dozen more gunmen, AK-47s swinging to come to bear

on us.

“Oh, great,” I said. “And I just thought they were

playing a prank on us.”

“Remind me to laugh later,” said Treehorn. “Or at

least before they kill us.”

From behind the gunmen came a familiar face that

left me with a deep frown.

Shilmani.

258 GH OS T RE CON

And then, from behind him, came Kundi, the village

headman and land owner, shaking his head at us.

I called to Shilmani and quickened my step toward

them. “What the hell is this?” I added.

“Please, Scott, it is very unexpected.” Shilmani’s eyes

were bloodshot, and blood was dripping from one of his

nostrils.

“You guys better release us right now,” said Tree-

horn.

“That’s right,” I said.

“No,” said Kundi, shaking his finger at us. “We talk

first. Right here.”

“Shilmani, tell this asshole if he wanted a meeting, he

could have asked for it.”

Shilmani glanced away, and, his voice cracking, said,

“Burki is dead.”

My mouth fell open. “Say again?”

“Burki was just shot and killed. Right after you left.

My cousin betrayed us. He told Kundi everything—

about us hiring you to kill Zahed.”

I remembered the conversation I’d had with the old

man that Bronco had taken me to see:

“Kundi is your son, and your son negotiates with the

Taliban.”

“Of course. I fought with Zahed’s father many years

ago. We are both Mujahadeen. The guns we used were

given to us by you Americans.”

Of course Kundi was loyal to Zahed. Like father,

like son.

I widened my eyes on Kundi and started toward him.

CO MB AT O P S

259

The half dozen guards he’d brought along cut me off—

but what was I going to do with my hands still cuffed?

“You killed Burki?” I asked the old man. “Wasn’t he

your friend?”

Shilmani translated. Kundi threw up his hands and

rattled off something about betrayal. I thought I caught

a word of that.

“He says Burki was altering the deal on the water. It was

not Zahed who had changed the terms of the agreement.”

“Do you believe that?” I asked Shilmani.

“No, I do not. I was there when Zahed’s man came

and told us about the new terms.”

“Tell him to let us go. Tell him if doesn’t let us go,

I’m going to make a few phone calls, and there’s going

to be a lot of trouble. And we’ll cut off access to the well,

that’s for sure . . .”

Shilmani took a deep breath and reluctantly trans-

lated.

Kundi’s eyes grew wide and maniacal. He marched

up to me, got in my face, his crooked yellow teeth bared.

“You . . . go home . . .”

I felt like saying, Let me go and I’ll catch the next flight

out. To hell with the politics, this place, the mission. To hell

with it all.

But the bastard challenged me, managed to capture

me, even, and I wasn’t going to take any more of his

bullshit. So what I did say was, “I’m not going home

until I either capture or kill your good buddy Zahed.”

Shilmani translated.

Kundi stepped back. The gunmen lined up.

260 GH OS T RE CON

“What the hell, boss?” groaned Treehorn. “Are they

getting ready to shoot us?”

Kundi heard the whomping first. He whirled around,

lifted a hand to his brow.

Then I heard it. We all did. Two choppers: a Black-

hawk and an Apache screaming in from the east, from

Kandahar.

“We’re late getting back,” I told Treehorn.

“Good deal,” he said.

Suddenly, Kundi waved for his men to retreat behind

the trailers. They ran off, as did the old man, who was

shouting back at Shilmani.

“I’m sorry, Scott. Really. I am,” cried Shilmani. “And

Scott, maybe you can help me! They took my daughter!

They took my daughter!”

With that Shilmani bolted off.

It was interesting trying to explain to the Blackhawk

crew how we’d managed to get our sorry asses kid-

napped, and I called ahead to Harruck to have someone

pick up our Hummer—that was, providing the villagers

hadn’t set it on fire. Turned out they hadn’t.

During the chopper ride back to the FOB, Gordon

contacted me to say that while they’d been scanning for

Green Force Tracker Chips they’d picked up a brief sig-

nal from Warris’s GFTC. Intel indicated that he was

being moved, and Gordon had pinpointed the entrance

to yet another tunnel complex.

It was time to make our move for a rescue.

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261

* * *

“So you got yourself taken prisoner,” said Harruck, pro-

ducing two glasses for us. It was going to be straight

whiskey this time and it was barely past noon.

We sat in his office, me still rubbing my wrists, him

intent on filling our drinks to the brim.

I took mine and sucked it down like a man who’d

found an oasis. The burn nearly made my eyes roll back.

After a long exhale, I said, “I’m so over this.”

“You and me both.”

“It’s tearing us up. All of us.”

“It is. You ever think it’d be like this? I mean when

you first joined up?”

“Oh, yeah, of course. I was totally stoked about the

futility of war.”

He snorted. “Me, too.”

“But maybe now we’ve caught a break.”

That drew his frown. “Really? You know they’ve

gone back on the TV. They’re going to kill Warris if we

don’t meet their demands in twenty-four hours. Keating

has stepped up plans for the offensive.”

“And you know what’s going to happen,” I said. “If I

don’t get out there, they’re going to kill Warris, they’ll

launch that offensive, and the media will report on all the

innocents who were killed. W’ell be the bad guys all over

again.”

The XO knocked, then entered. “Sir, the governor’s

back. He’s screaming again.”

“Tell him to fuck off,” snapped Harruck.

262 GH OS T RE CON

I laughed under my breath.

“Tell him I’m in a meeting,” Harruck corrected.

“Okay, and Dr. Anderson is outside, too. She says all