The car turned onto a bumpy road and slowed around several turns before accelerating up a steep hill and finally coming to a stop. The driver turned off the engine, and both men got out. My door opened, and someone grabbed my upper arm and yanked me out. The air was cooler out here, wherever here was, and the steady din of the city was missing. My throat went dry, and my heart sped up as my captors led me down a winding path and then up a series of outdoor steps. A door opened, and I was led into a building, floorboards creaking under our weight.
A second door opened, and I was shepherded into a room and forced to sit on a metal chair. The men left, slamming the door behind them. The room was cool and musty. A window unit behind me issued a steady stream of cool air. The skin on my lower back was still burning from where they had stabbed me with the stun baton. The plastic tie bit deeply into the tendons of my wrists, and I flexed my fingers in an effort to keep some modicum of circulation flowing.
No one came. No voices from the other side of the door, no footsteps, or the strand of music from a faraway speaker. Just the sound of the air conditioner.
I did the only thing I could. I waited.
Chapter Fifteen
Helmand Province, Afghanistan
April 2012
Bahar Shakor felt a trickle of sweat roll down his temple and the side of his cheek before it ran off his chin and silently fell into his lap.
The American soldier pulled out the chair across the table and sat. Placing a hand on the table, he slowly tapped his index finger in a slow cadence. His icy blue eyes burned into Bahar’s. The young man looked away.
Bahar could feel the cold bore of his stare. He thought he might throw up. His worst nightmare had just realized itself. He hadn’t even completed his first task, and the Americans had caught him. And everyone knew that when the Americans caught you, they never let you go. “What do you want with me?” he blurted in English. “What am I doing here?”
The officer gave him a hard, thin-lipped smile. “Bahar Shakor,” he said slowly. “I am Captain Savage. You and I, we need to have a little chat.”
“I have nothing to say.”
“Maybe not. But I sure as hell do.” He placed a file folder on the table, flipped it open, and began to examine the contents. After several moments, he reached into the pocket of his pants and set something else on the table. It was the detonator Abdul had given him in the cafe.
“Bahar, do you want to tell me what you were doing with this?”
Bahar thought he might throw up. The temperature in the room suddenly felt much warmer, stuffier. He did not offer an answer.
“My squad picked you up in Kandahar with this little contraption in your pocket.” He picked it up, examined it for show, and then laid it on the table. “We also located a garbage can filled with explosives and ball bearings on the next corner. One of our patrols was set to roll by there in the next hour.”
Bahar set his jaw and looked down into his lap.
“My guys, they don’t take too well to triggermen. And I’ll tell you why, Bahar. It may not be for the reason you think. Because the only kind of men who hold something like this in their hands—and actually press the button—are cowards. And you, Bahar, are a coward.”
“I am no such thing!” Bahar belted out. “I am no coward!”
Captain Savage nodded. “So you do have a tongue. I’ll tell you what, we can debate the finer points of courage and valor another time. Right now, you should probably be thinking long and hard about your grandmother and your sister.”
Bahar felt like the American officer had just rammed his fist into his stomach.
“With you in here, they are going to have a rough go of it. What will they think when they realize the last man in their family is a terrorist?”
“They will praise me for it!”
“No, they won’t. At least, your grandmother won’t.”
“It was your soldiers who killed my father and my brother. If it were not for you Americans coming into my country, they would still be alive.”
“Bahar, I’m sorry about your father and your brother. I honestly am. But a group of Islamic radicals opened fire on our patrol in the market that day. The very radicals that you have now decided to work for. You can’t put their deaths fully on us.”
Bahar did not respond, only looked away again.
“Your file says you’re twenty-seven. That would make you and me the same age. It’s interesting, don’t you think? Here we are, two men the same age but sitting worlds apart across this table. I am a lover of freedom, and you are a lover of terror.”
“You are a lover of power,” Bahar snapped. “You all talk about freedom but then destroy everyone else's.”
“You know what I think? I think that you, like everyone else on this planet, just want to live your life in peace. You want to raise your goats and laugh with friends and enjoy your family. But you haven’t known a lot of peace, have you, Bahar? First, it was the Russians, then the Taliban, and now us. I get it. Your entire life, all your country has known is some version of war. But do you want to tell me how radicalizing and blowing up a few convoys is going to get rid of us? It’s only going to step up our efforts.”
“At least some of us have decided to fight back.” Bahar hissed.
“Your father. Tell me about him.”
“My father? Why?”
“What kind of man was
