“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
appeared to be Taliban with turbans and shemaghsacross
their faces, pulled us out of the Hummer.
My words in Pashto were ignored. I kept asking them
what they wanted, what was going on, we weren’t here
to hurt them. One guy came up and suddenly pulled a
black sack over my head. I started screaming as others
252 GH OS T RE CON
dragged my hands behind my back and zipper-cuffed
them.
And then I really panicked. How the hell could I have
been so stupid? Shilmani was probably in bed with Zahed
and had arranged this entire pack of lies so that they could
kidnap us. Now they’d have threeAmerican prisoners . . .
Treehorn was screaming and struggling to get free.
I yelled for him to calm down, we’d be okay.
“We should’ve killed them all!” he said, his voice muf-
fled by the sack presumably over his head. “We should’ve!”
They shoved me into the backseat of one of the cars,
driving my head down and forcing me to sit.
I was a Ghost officer. Neither seen nor heard.
And never once had I been taken prisoner.
T WENTY-FOUR
As someone used to being in control, I could hardly
believe that I was helpless and at the mercy of my captors.
I kept telling myself, You’re Captain Scott Mitchell, D
Company, First Battalion, Fifth Special Forces Group.
This does not happen to you.
My emotions flew in chaotic orbits. One second I was
furious, wanting to curse and scream and shove my way
out of the car. The next moment I was scared out of my
mind, picturing myself hanging inverted from a rope
and being tortured in ways both medieval and merciless.
We drove, with Treehorn in the seat next to me. He
kept trying to talk, but our captors shouted for him to
be quiet. They knew a little English. I assumed they
254 GH OS T RE CON
wouldn’t answer our questions, so there was no reason
to talk until we arrived at wherever we were going.
I took only small comfort in the fact that Gordon
could still locate Treehorn and me via the signals from
our Green Force Tracker Chips (unless, of course, we
were taken to a cave or the chips were removed from our
bodies). And yes, I had assumed we were being captured
by the Taliban—initially, at least. As the car ride contin-
ued, I began counting off the seconds and trying to
estimate how far they were taking us from the village.
I tried to make myself feel better by concocting some
elaborate scheme that involved Bronco and his CIA bud-
dies capturing us for some reason—maybe to threaten
us or force a conversation, something. Bronco did wield
some power in the village, having longstanding relation-
ships with all the players, so I wouldn’t have put it past
him to engage in a little payback and some threats. He
could have paid off some local guys to pick us up and
deliver us to him.
The road grew very rough, jostling us in the seats,
and the driver directly in front of me began arguing
with the passenger. I focused on the conversation, tried
my best to ferret out the words, but they always spoke so
rapidly that my hearing turned into a skipping CD,
just . . . getting . . . a word . . . here . . . there . . .
“Boss, I’m a little worried,” said Treehorn.
“I know. Don’t talk,” I snapped.
The men hollered back at us.
At that point I began to feel sorry for myself. I’ll
admit it. I’d grown a little too comfortable in the
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255
village, believing that since Burki wanted me to kill
Zahed, I could move a bit more freely and not be threat-
ened. Sure, we dressed like the locals and were begin-
ning to grow out our beards, but I’m sure it wasn’t
difficult to ID us as foreigners.
I heard my father telling me, Son, you really screwed
up. You watched a guy murder another soldier and lied
about it. You basically got two of your men killed. And