Tom Clancy's Ghost Recon: Combat Ops by David Michaels

comedian. I’m so glad you came.”
    “Do you know anything about EMP disruption being used by the Taliban?”
    “You’re talking Star Trek to me. What?”
    “Weapons that disrupt electronic devices. Have you seen or heard anything about Zahed’s people using weap ons like that?”
    He lit his cigarette and took a long drag. “Go home, Joe.”
    I grinned crookedly. “I was kinda hoping we could be friends.”
    He hoisted a brow. “Well, I do enjoy your humor and sarcasm, but to be honest, you’re pretty much screwed here . . .”
    I caught up with Shilmani out near the town’s old well, which would soon run dry. He was loading water jugs onto a flatbed, and the old man behind the wheel of the idling pickup got out when he spotted me.
    Mirab Mir Burki wore cream-colored robes with a long white sash draped over his shoulders. His turban sat very low on his head and drooped at the same angles as his eyes. Bushy gray brows furrowed as he cut off my approach. “If you’re going to ask all the same questions, then don’t bother,” he snapped in Pashto.
    “I’m not here to interview you,” I said in English.
    He looked to Shilmani, who set down his jug and translated quickly.
    “What do you want?” asked Burki.
    “They’re going to build you a new well,” I said.
    Burki answered quickly in broken English. “They talk and talk. But no well.”
    “They will dig it soon.”
    “You are Captain Harruck’s friend?”
    I gave a slow if somewhat tentative nod, then said, “I’m very worried about what will happen to the new well, though. We must protect it from the Taliban.”
    Shilmani translated, and Burki suddenly threw up his hands and climbed back in the car.
    I looked at Shilmani. “What did I say?”
    Shilmani took a deep breath. “He doesn’t want you to protect the well from the Taliban, remember?”
    “Yeah,” I groaned. “Now I do. I’m in a difficult situa tion right now. If I can just remove Zahed, then maybe your boss can negotiate for water rights with the next guy.” “He’s very upset about the bridge. We have to drive
    fifteen kilometers to cross at the next one.” “Why do you need to cross?”
    “To make our deliveries in Sangsar.” “To the Taliban.”
    He glanced away. “Scott, I did not contact any of your men. Why are you here?”
    “I need you to help me find Zahed.”
    “It’s too dangerous for me right now—especially with the bridge destroyed.”
    Burki started hollering for Shilmani to finish up. I raised a palm. “It’s okay. For now. When you’re ready.”
    His eyes grew glassy before he looked away and fin ished loading his last jug.
    My boots dragged through the sand as I crossed back to the Hummer.
    I thought about that little girl who’d been raped and kept pinning that on Zahed so he could remain the “bad guy” in my head. But then I heard Harruck saying  that maybe she’d been raped without Zahed’s knowl edge. Maybe he wasn’t linked to a lot of the crime going on. Maybe he would, in the end, do much more for the people than the government could.
    After biting my lips and swearing once more, I hopped into the Hummer, and the private took the wheel. “Where to now, sir?”
    “They got a bar around here?” He laughed. “Uh, no, sir.”
    I smelled something. Gasoline. Burning. I looked at the private. “Get out!”

TEN

    I opened the door and looked back to spot a burning rag stuffed into our open fuel tank. Both the private and I ran from the truck just as, in the next second, the tank rup tured under a muffled explosion and flames began rush ing up the sides. There was no heaving of the HMMWV off the ground, no cinema-like burst of flames, but black smoke and a thick stench spread quickly as I drew my sidearm and scanned the row of houses behind us.
    There he was. A kid, maybe eighteen. Running. “Come on!” I shouted to the private.
    Off to my left, Shilmani and Burki were already on their way off, but the truck stopped. Shilmani bailed