went out there and had a seat on the tailgate of his water
truck. “What are you doing here?”
“I want to help you.”
“Really?”
“Yes. Do you trust me?”
I shouldn’t have hesitated. But I did. “Okay, I trust
you.”
“Then change your clothes. Burki wants to see you.
I’ll wait here for you.”
“We always travel in pairs. I’ll need to bring another
soldier.”
He didn’t flinch. “Okay.”
When I walked into our billet, several of the guys came
over to me, and Brown said, “We think Ramirez is sick.
He’s been throwing up since you guys got back. Nolan’s
taking him to the hospital.”
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193
“Oh, okay, good. Treehorn?”
The big guy looked up at me from his bunk. “Yeah,
boss?”
“Get dressed like an Afghan. We’re going for a little
ride.”
“You got it.”
I headed to the back of the billet, where Nolan was
handing a canteen to Ramirez. “Come on, bro. You need
to go over there.”
Ramirez, who was wearing only his skivvies now,
shook his head.
“Hey, Joey, you okay?” I asked, my tone more of a
challenge than an expression of concern.
He could barely face me. “Perfect.”
“Then why are you throwing up? You didn’t look sick
a little while ago . . .”
He snorted. “You see that crap they’re serving in the
mess hall? I guess it takes a while to seep into your
guts.”
“Well, I hope you feel better. Soon.” I walked back to
my bunk and began changing. Before I was finished,
Nolan and Ramirez pushed past me and headed outside.
Brown lifted his head from his bunk. “Hey, Captain?
Everything okay? I’m getting some bad vibes from you
and Joey.”
“We’re cool. I’m just worried about him.”
“We’re worried about you.”
I drew back my head. “Me?”
“Yeah. You got a lot of pressure. We lost Matt. Warris
is out there. We get new orders yet?”
194 GH OS T RE CON
I gave a short nod. “I’ll brief you guys when we get
back.”
Shilmani drove Treehorn and me to one of two shacks
positioned along more foothills on the far west side of
the town. The shacks rose improbably from the dirt and
pockmarked hills, and they looked as though they’d
been there for centuries. Long rows of water jugs were
stacked on a rickety framework, and two more pickup
trucks were parked behind them.
Two men with AK-47s sat on the roof of one shack,
and the rickety ladder they’d used to ascend to their
perch leaned against one wall, casting a long shadow.
They eyed our group with deep suspicion, and I was
glad to move into the cooler shadows of the first shack,
where the water man sat on a thick carpet and sipped
tea, along with a much younger man, who suddenly shot
to his feet as we entered.
Shilmani gestured that we take seats on the crimson-
colored toshak.
“We’ll have some tea first,” said Burki.
“Thank you,” I said, settling down on the cushion
and making sure the soles of my feet were not showing.
I muttered for Treehorn to do likewise and to remove
his sunglasses.
Shilmani poured us cups of tea, which we quickly
accepted.
The young man stood in the corner, just watching us.
CO MB AT O P S
195
His beard was short, his eyes fiery. If he had a weapon,
I’d say he wanted to use it on us, but thus far he appeared
unarmed.
“How is the new well coming? I haven’t had time to
go out there.”
Burki’s English wasn’t very good. Shilmani translated,
and Burki said, “Oh, good, good, good. A lot of water!”
“He sounds happy,” I said to Shilmani.
“He is. Even with the Taliban cutting into our prof-
its, we’ll still have a very good year. The solar-powered
pump is a brilliant idea.”
“Not mine,” I said.
“But great nonetheless.”
“How are your wife and children?” I asked.
“Very well,” he answered. “Perhaps some time you
could join us again for dinner. My children have a lot of
questions about America.”
“I’ll try to answer them.”
Shilmani grinned, then leered up at the young man
in the corner.
“Who is he?”
“Just the bodyguard.”
“He wants to kill me,” I said.
“Me, too,” Shilmani said with a smile. “I hate him.”
Burki leaned forward and gave me a long appraising
stare. “I want you to kill Zahed,” he said slowly.
I drew back my head and looked at Shilmani, who
simply nodded.
“What’s going on now?” I asked.
196 GH OS T RE CON
Shilmani spoke quickly, “We had a deal with Zahed
for the water coming out of the new well, but he has
chosen to break that deal and increase his demands. So
we have chosen to kill him—and we will hire you to do
the job.”
“Okay,” I said matter-of-factly.
Treehorn looked at me: Are you nuts?
I winked at him. Then faced Burki and made the
money sign. “How much will you pay me?”
He looked at Shilmani and spoke rapidly, and I could
only ferret out every third word.
“He says we’ll pay you with information rather than
money.”
“Tell him I said that’s very clever and I appreciate this
offer. I will kill Zahed. How can he help me?”
Shilmani and Burki spoke again, then Shilmani said,
“We will set up a meeting for you and Zahed. He will
think you are one of the opium smugglers I told him
about. You will come with us. And when the door closes,
you will put a bullet in his head.”
“Okay.”
“Captain, I’m not sure this is such a good idea.”
I looked at Treehorn. “Thanks. No other opinions
needed.” I faced Burki. “How soon can we meet with
Zahed?”
“Soon.”
I turned to Shilmani. “Ask him about our captured
man. Does he know where our guy is being held?”
After a moment of conversation, Shilmani turned to
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197
me and shook his head. “No idea. But Zahed would want
to question him himself, so probably in Sangsar.”
“Ask him what he thinks the best-protected place is in
that town.”
Shilmani did. Both men laughed. Shilmani turned to
me. “He says the police station. The jail. But it is prob-
ably too obvious.”
We had dozens of maps and intelligence on Sangsar,
but sometimes that intel did not indicate the function of
some buildings unless streaming satellite video of the
comings and goings of the inhabitants made it obvious—
or if there was, of course, a sign on the building.
I drew an imaginary rectangle across the carpet and
said, “Can you tell me in what part of the town we would
find that building?”
Shilmani already knew. He pointed directly in the mid-
dle of the rectangle. I sighed. Of course—as deep into the
town as you could get.