“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.”
“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?”
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
“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. 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 profits, 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.
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:
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 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 probably 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 middle of the rectangle. I sighed. Of course — as deep into the town as you could get.
“So if I kill Zahed, your boss gets to keep all of the profits.”
“That’s what he thinks, but you and I know better.”
“We do?”
“There’s always another man to take over for Zahed.”
“Yes, there is. Do you know who that might be?”
