Tom Clancy's Ghost Recon: Combat Ops (10 page)

“Don’t stand there and think you can burn me, Scott. I’ve got a lot on you, too. I’m talking lots of stuff in the closet, friendly-fire crap that was covered up . . . you know exactly what I’m talking about.”

Actually, I didn’t because there were too many close calls, too many missions where collateral damage needed to be addressed by my superiors, who, for the most part, kept me and my team out of the loop. Whatever he thought he had was probably bullshit . . . but then again, you never knew . . .

He turned and headed into his office. I followed. He crossed around his desk but remained standing. I kept near the door and didn’t take a chair, either.

After a deep breath, I said, “Simon, I’m trying to decide if I should have you removed from command.”

“That’s not your decision.”

“Once I light the fuse, there’s no putting it out.” “Yeah, you like blowing things up. So why the 
bridge?”

“Changing the subject?”

“Do you realize what you’ve done?”

“Yeah, made it harder for them. They’ve been using the bridge
we built
to come over here and attack us. Now if they want to come, they get to go swimming.”

“That bridge was symbolic of our presence here.” “Like the school and the police station and the well 
you want to drill?”

“Man, I would’ve never seen this coming.” I closed my eyes and took another deep breath. “We can agree to disagree, but you cannot interfere with my mission.”

“You know your mission is worthless. And it might mean we have to sacrifice everything—even now when things are finally going to happen.”

“They gave me a target.”

“And you think you can act with impunity?” I tensed. “I can and will act with impunity.” “So now you’re God.”

My hands turned into fists. “Why are you doing this?

We’re on the same side. Zahed is a thug.”

He rubbed the corners of his eyes. “You think I’m a bleeding-heart liberal now?”

“They sent you here to secure the town and help the people, and they’re calling that counterinsurgency. It’s a goddamned joke. They sent me here to capture or kill the bad guy. To them, it’s all very simple.”

“I just want to help these people, give their kids a school, let ’em have a police station, and let them have more drinking water so they’re not constantly screwed over by the Taliban, who’re selling it to them at outra geous prices. What’s wrong with that? We’re talking about basic human rights.”

I hardened my gaze. “At what cost? My life? The lives of my team?”

He couldn’t meet my gaze.

“Simon, you’re not here to create a legacy. Just get the job done. Secure the town. Assist in building the infrastructure.”

“They’re already talking about pulling me out. Giv ing me four months—if I’m lucky.”

“Well, you got the ball rolling now.”

He swore under his breath. “Maybe. So what’s next?” “Well, I can’t trust you, but I still need this compa ny’s support to get my job done. Does the XO know 
what happened?”

“Shoregan’s on my side. He’ll do whatever I say.” “Don’t trust him. He wants your command, and I 
could give it to him right now.”

“Scott, I don’t want to take this any further.”

“Yeah, because you got caught.” I snorted. “I don’t care what you got on me. Bring it.”

“Just slow down, and think about what you’re doing . . . one minute you sound like you’ll let me off, the next you’re blowing the whistle.”

He was right. I was torn. I could still go against Keat ing’s wishes, burn Harruck, and back the old man into a corner; however, if I did that, Keating could easily ruin me. I glanced over to the wall, where Harruck had proudly displayed pictures of his various tours. One on the left caught my eye: our Robin Sage training. I stood there with our class, with Simon at my side, his arm 
draped over my shoulder.

So right there I reasoned that now I could better con trol and even manipulate him. The guilt persuaded me to give him a chance.

At the same time, I couldn’t help but see him as a mindless cog in the wheel of socialism. Sure, we’d build the locals an infrastructure, but they’d screw us over and probably forget about us after we left. Nevertheless, Harruck billed himself as a humanitarian—one who’d been willing to sacrifice us for his “larger cause.” You had to love that irony.

“Here’s the plan,” I began. “You get word out to the village elders that the Taliban blew up the bridge and tried to frame some of the local merchants. That way we save face with Kundi and the rest of those idiots in the town.”

“I don’t think they’ll go for it.”

“Doesn’t matter. All we need is doubt. Just make them think
everyone
is lying. Now, with the bridge out, you’ll have a little more freedom to begin construction, because the Taliban will use the shallowest part of the river to cross, and they’ll have to move through the east side and approach through the valley and our choke point, so you guys can better defend against them now. I’ll help your men set up some overwatch positions and some gun emplacements.”

“So you knew that blowing that bridge would actu ally help my construction project?”

“Yeah, I did.”

“Then why didn’t you tell me?”

“I don’t know, Simon. You pissed me off the last time we talked, all right?”

He flumped into his chair. “I still can’t have you going into Sangsar and raising hell. And now that you’ve blown the bridge, they’ll attack us again.”

“I can’t see this ending well, Scott.”

“It’s hard to see right now.” I found myself quoting Keating and hating myself for that. “Our situation is complicated.” I started for the door.

“So we have an agreement?” I turned back. “What?”

“We call the chopper pickup a miscommunication, and from here on out, I won’t interfere with your mission.”

“You’re damned right you won’t.” “But can you do me a favor?”

I almost chuckled, and there was no hiding my sar casm. “Sure, we’re still bestest buddies.”

“Try contacting Zahed.” “Excuse me?”

“Try to make direct contact with him. Maybe we can call a truce. If we can get him talking, maybe your mis sion can change.”

“He’s a terrorist.”

“That hasn’t been proven.”

“I plucked a little girl out of there—and she told me he’s a scumbag terrorist. That’s definitive.”

In truth, she hadn’t uttered a word about Zahed him self, but her eyes had told me enough.

Harruck went on with his speculation. “Maybe he doesn’t have full control of his men. He’s a politician, too. He wouldn’t condone that.”

“So it’s okay that I talk to the leader of an insurgency who rapes children in the name of saving these other children over here.”

“Scott, we can debate this all night.”

“No, we can’t. And we won’t. The fat man will be captured or killed before I leave. And if he’s not, then I’ll be the one leaving in a body bag.”

I hurried out into the cooler air as two Hummers came rolling by. Harruck had put the entire base on alert, and all the engines and shouting made me wince. I couldn’t wait to collapse into my rack. Maybe I’d wake up back in North Carolina. I could tell Auntie Em that I’d had a terrible dream about a sandstorm that had car ried me away to a land where camels had wings and no one told the truth.

The next morning while I was in the mess hall, I ran into Dr. Anderson, the woman from ARO, who’d been given temporary quarters on the base to begin coordi nating with the engineers for the construction projects. She remembered my name. I called her Dr. Anderson.

I didn’t want to get too chummy with her. “Eating alone?” she asked.

My team had already chowed down, allowing me to sleep in. They’d understood the night I’d had.

“Yes, I am.”

“Want some company?” she asked.

I glimpsed her blond hair, now flowing easily over her shoulders. No veil required here. She was probably in her late twenties, early thirties. Just stunning. An oasis. “Oh, I wouldn’t be good company right now.”

“Don’t underestimate yourself,” she said, following me to my table and sitting across from me.

“Aggressive,” I muttered. “I eat my dead.”

“Not bad—”

“For a bleeding-heart liberal, right?” “I didn’t say that.”

She smiled. “Your expression did.” “I told you, I’m not good company.” “I don’t need your permission.” “Then why’d you ask? What is this?” “This is me taking on a challenge.” “Oh, yeah, what’s that?”

“I don’t know what it is you do here, but I guess you have some pull with Captain Harruck, and he’s a great guy, doing everything he can to help these people. So I’m wondering why you don’t support him.”

“So the challenge is to get me talking so you can find out who your enemies might be on the base?”

“That’s how we recon. Same as you, actually. Keep your enemies close, too.”

“I’m not your enemy. Just a skeptic.”

She took a bite of her toast, sipped her black coffee. “And why is that?”

“I could tell you . . .”

“But then you’d have to . . .”

“No, not kill you . . . just start an argument, and it’s 
not worth it. I’m just here to get a job done, and when I’m finished, I go on to the next problem.”

“Me, too.” She stared out the window at the dust blow ing across the road. “This place . . . it has a way of drain ing all your energy. Some days I just feel like sleeping.”

“Yeah, I know what you mean.”

“So you think I’m wasting my time, don’t you? You think we’re all just spinning our wheels.”

I didn’t look up, just ate my toast and found great interest in the black pool of my coffee.

“Scott, maybe in the end we can do more good by showing kindness,” she added.

“We’re a fighting force, trained for battle, not police work. These people need a police force and a better army to protect them, and then people like you can come and offer aid. We’re doing it all for them right now, and when we pull out, you watch . . . it’ll all crumble.”

The guys decided that they hated Harruck. I couldn’t blame them. I shared what Keating had told me. They snorted, cursed, wished we had beer.

At the same time, they were getting cabin fever, so I told them we’d bend orders and don regular Army uni forms and pose as grunts to assist with arranging and constructing defensive positions along the choke point near the river.

“We just finished telling you how much we hate Har ruck,” said Brown. “Now you want us to help him?” 

I put Ramirez in charge and sent my boys out there to help a few sergeants, who were glad to have more hands on shovels in the one-hundred-plus-degree heat.

Meanwhile, I paid a long overdue visit to our friendly neighborhood CIA agent, a guy who called himself “Bronco.” I wasn’t keen on working with those bas tards, but I figured the least I could do was feel him out. I’d thought his agency wanted Zahed as much as I did, so we had a common goal.

Bronco didn’t live on the base but paid rent for a one room shack on the west side of the village. He’d been working the district for the past two years and had, according to Harruck, earned the respect of Kundi and the rest of the elders.

I found him sitting outside his shack, reading a book and smoking a filterless cigarette. His gray beard, sun weathered skin, and turban made it hard to discern him as an American. I’d taken a private with me for security and had donned regular Army gear myself.

Bronco took a long pull on his cigarette, flicked it away, then exhaled loudly and spoke in Pashto. “Good morning, gentlemen. What do you want?”

I answered in English. “My name’s Scott. I was hop ing we could go inside and talk in private.”

“You’re not the asshole who blew up our bridge, are you?”

“I can neither confirm nor deny any information you have regarding bridges in this region,” I answered curtly, then gave him my lucky fuck-you smile.

He rolled his eyes. “Come on in, Joe.” “Scott.”

“No, Joe.”

We went in, and I wasn’t sure how a human being could live like that. One meager bed, small washbasin, a table, and two chairs. No power, no running water. He did have natural gas to cook, but that was about it. A laptop with satellite link sat improbably on the table, and he told me had a dozen solar-powered batteries to keep the thing running—his lifeline to home. He plopped into a chair.

“I’m surprised they didn’t attach me to your mis sion,” he said suddenly.

“And what mission would that be?”

“Cut the crap. You’re an SF guy come here to take out Zahed. He knew you were coming. We knew you were coming. No one wants you here. No one needs you here. So what the hell are you doing here?”

I started laughing and looked around. “I keep asking myself the same question.”

“Go home, Joe.”

“Aren’t you here with the same agenda?”

He just stared at me. Squinted, really, deep lines creasing his face. “I can neither confirm nor deny any information I have regarding the whereabouts or intended capture of Zahed.”

“All right. You’re me. What do you do?”

“You don’t think removing Zahed will have any effect on what’s happening here?”

“Yeah, actually I do. This place will tank even more.” “You don’t think capturing him will gain us valuable information regarding the Taliban’s activities in this 
region?”

“Nope. We got predators flying around, watching every move they make. We don’t need one fat man to spill his guts.”