Chapter 2

CHAPTER 2

They were in the hangar and on seven crates drawn in a rough circle: Flowers and Meeks to his left, Roni perched to his right. Driver and Shahida sat as a kind of power couple at the nominal head. Musa and the boy John had seen outside the airport with Shahida huddled quietly in a corner.

Conspicuous by his absence, though, was Mac, the CIA guy.

“First, before start,” Shahida said, “I want thank you for come.”

“Don’t thank me yet,” John said. He was exhausted, running on caffeine and nerves. The smell of blood and antiseptic and burnt flesh seemed to steam from his skin. “Roni’s the only reason I’m willing to hear you guys out. But I got to ask, where’s Mac?”

“Stuff to attend to.” Driver straddled his crate like a bone-weary cowpoke. His skin, still smudged with dirt and Harris’s blood, was sallow in the hangar’s overhead light. He rubbed at his dark eyes, which were sunken far back in his sockets. “Off making arrangements.”

“For what?” John looked from Driver to Shahida. “For you ? You’re an asset?”

“In a way,” Driver said.

“And you need four guys to guard her? Isn’t that what the Zeroes are for?”

“More complicated than just her ass,” Meeks said.

“Yeah, man,” Flowers said. His long blond hair hung lank and oily, the ends stiff and a dirty brown from Harris’s blood. “Don’t tell me you never heard what happens when a crow flies over Kandahar.”

“Not in the mood for riddles,” John said. “So why don’t you just tell me?”

“Okay, smart guy, riddle me this. What happens when a crow flies over Kandahar?”

“Like I said…”

“It covers its ass with a wing.”

John waited a beat. “Was that supposed to be funny? I don’t even understand how that’s relevant.”

“You would,” Flowers said, “if you knew what grown men did with little dancing boys.”

“What?” He transferred his gaze to Driver. “What’s he talking about?”

Flowers opened his mouth to reply, but Shahida held up a hand. “I answer myself for why,” she said. She’d discarded her shemagh, and her long black hair tumbled around her shoulders. She wore camis, but now that they weren’t chasing down a mob following a transport plane, John had the leisure to see that she was also very carefully made-up: mascara, eye shadow, liner. Her cheeks were rouged and her lips, which were very full, were a deep russet. Even her nails were perfectly shaped and painted. “Is not only me they watch. Boy I bring today, Biri.” At the mention of his name, the child looked up, his eyes wide and dark with concern until Musa draped an arm around the boy’s shoulder and whispered into his ear. “My army is...different.”

“Army.” There was something profoundly sweet in how the boy burrowed deeper into Musa’s chest, and he had to clear his throat. “So,” he said, taking his gaze from the child to Shahida, “you’re a warlord?”

“No. Not way you think. I wage war against what mens do here.”

“ That’s baloney,” John said. “I’ve seen you with a rifle. You can’t tell me you’ve never been in a combat setting.”

“I do…” Shahida spread her hands. “What need doing. I have fighters, but we do different from resistance.”

“Meaning?”

“Let me tell story so you understand. I run away when I am nine. This happen the day after my father say I must marry old man. That man was fifty. My father...he need money. Too many mouths feed, and old mans always want little girl for wife.”

Just the thought turned his stomach. “ Okay, so you ran away to join in the fight?” When she nodded, he said, “You were nine. How’d you even hold a rifle?”

“No can. Too small girl. I carry supplies. I scout. I quick, run fast, carry message. One day I get strong, I pick up rifle.”

“And?”

“ And we fight different war. We fight for childrens here. Not with books or food but different way that Americans know about and help with us to do.”

“What?” He looked from Shahida to Driver then back. “You mean, American aid agencies or government?”

“In beginning, is aid with some help.”

“Meaning some piece of government help.”

“Let us just say… some . But now Americans decide leave. You even tell Taliban when. But many childrens here still need help.”

He remembered the day that particular president had made that particular announcement. Talk about a strategic blunder at the highest level. The soldiers and line officers at Benning only shook their heads: The fastest way to lose a war is to tell everyone when you’re quitting.

“I still don’t understand. Are you like the Zeroes?” he asked. “CIA train you or was that Special Forces?”

Roni, who’d been completely silent, said, “John, you’re missing the point.”

That got under his skin. “In case you haven’t noticed, I’m a little sleep-deprived and a lot messed up after a not-so-little suicide bombing,” he snapped. “So, while I appreciate this lesson on Afghan civics and sex crimes, what does all this have to do with me? Or with you, Roni? With either of us?” Before she could answer, he looked to Driver. “Does this have something to do with why Mac isn’t here?”

“Like we said,” Driver replied, “he’s tied up.”

“Doing what?” John asked. “Or is it that he doesn’t want to be responsible for us non-spooks?”

“Driver and his crew aren’t with the CIA or JSOC either,” Roni said. “It’s a little more complicated than that.”

“I think I can handle complicated, thanks, seeing as how I’m a doctor and all. I’m used to really big words.” Ignoring the hurt on her face, he turned back to Shahida and Driver. “So, I ask again. What do you want? Why do you even need me or Roni?”

“For starters,” Driver said, “we’re down a man. We lost Harris. Besides being a friend and a good shot, he was our SARC.”

“He was Navy?” He felt his eyebrows arch in surprise. Having no medical branch of their own, Marines used Navy SARCs: Special Amphibious Reconnaissance Corpsmen. A SARC had the same training as his black ops or specialist counterparts and so could serve not only as the medic for a unit or squad or platoon but also take on various roles, including command, if someone went down. “ That’s why you need us? Because we’re doctors?”

“Because we need all the help we can get.” Driver paused then added, “Especially if that someone is just as good as a HOG.”

His heart did a convulsive flip. The acronym was a title bestowed only to those who passed the elite Marine Scout Sniper School. Upon graduation, a newly minted sniper was given a “Hog’s Tooth,” a 7.62×51mm NATO round which the M40A6, the primary sniper rifle used by Marines, fired . The tradition grew out of a saying, There’s a bullet out there with your name on it . Call it superstition, but so long as a Marine wore that tooth around his neck, the bullet with his name would never find him. Now, that didn’t explain why in Shooter —a fun flick if you were into weapons and seemingly impossible shots at distance—Mark Wahlberg’s character, Bobby Lee, wore a Hog’s Tooth and still took a bullet. Of course, he didn’t die. Kill Mark Wahlberg, there’s no movie.

And you, my friend, are getting pretty punchy.

Aloud, he temporized. “I’ve never been to sniper school.”

“Coulda fooled me. You got your training from somewhere and, for my money, I think it was from a sniper, but it’s fine, fine…” Driver held up a hand when John started to speak. “I don’t need all the details. All I’m saying is we saw you in action. You and Roni are both very good, and you are excellent, as good as if not better than most professionally instructed gunmen.”

This, Dare once had warned him, was precisely the kind of notice he’d wanted to avoid. “So, what you’re saying is you want me because I shoot well.”

“I’d be lying if I said that wasn’t part of it.” Driver shrugged. “But you’re a pretty cool customer, too. I need someone with skills, someone who can keep his head—and if things get really hairy, I need someone who can shoot from a fast-moving vehicle.”

“Fast-moving.” He frowned. “What is this, The Great Escape ?”

“Saw that movie,” Flowers said. “McQueen was awesome.”

“Why would I be shooting at anyone ?”

“Because of what we bring here.” Shahida leaned forward. “We need you help smuggle in.”

“Smuggle in,” he said. “Onto the airport grounds.”

“And into plane.” She nodded. “Yes. We need you save us.”

“To save your army? Your guys?”

“No, man, haven’t you been listening?” Flowers said. “To save her kids .”