Page 38

Shakor flipped to another, holding the phone up. Ahmad said, “That’s Branko. That’s the man who was there. Is that from the airport?”

Shakor put his phone away and said, “You should have stayed in Afghanistan. It would have been better for you.”

“I’ll go back. I’ll go back right now!”

Shakor said, “You made your choice. Maybe your body will return.”

He turned to Ghulam and said, “Hold him down.”

Chapter22

My little caravan was about an hour outside of the Bokhtar airport near our original dig site, banging along what passed for an interstate in Tajikistan, when my satellite phone rang. I looked to Knuckles in the passenger seat, saying, “Who in the hell could that be?”

He had a laptop in—of course—his lap and was typing away on a situation report to give to our higher headquarters, and was still surly. I didn’t blame him, but knew even with his attitude that he’d use the appropriate euphemisms to describe our engagement.

I didn’t charge up the stairwell after getting clocked in the head. I’d “assessed the target location and determined it was hostile.” Jennifer didn’t start splitting heads open with a sniper rifle while we ran helter-skelter up the stairs. Our “planned overwatch eliminated threats to the penetration.” And Knuckles hadn’t slaughtered everyone he’d encountered. We’d all “used the minimum force necessary to subdue the opposition.”

To whit: we had a prisoner in the car behind us being driven by Brett. Nowhere would the SITREP mention the discussion about killing that guy in cold blood.

Even though I’d ordered the plane to displace to Dushanbe, we were executing the original plan of driving back south. It would be much easier transferring our passengers at the Bokhtar airfield than at the only international airport in Tajikistan.

The phone rang again and Knuckles said, “You going to answer?”

I pursed my lips and said, “I guess I have to, but man, I don’t want to. I’m sure it’s Veep about to tell me something’s gone wrong on the flight.”

I picked it up, hit the button for the call, and said, “Hello?”

I heard, “Pike? Is this Pike Logan?”

I honestly expected to hear Veep giving me some sort of shit sandwich, but the voice wasn’t his. I said, “Yeah, it’s Pike. Who’s this?”

“It’s Blaine. Blaine Alexander.”

Great. It’s going to be abiggershitsandwich.

Blaine was the designated commander for Omega operations, but since Kurt Hale’s death, he’d been acting as the deputy commander of the Taskforce while George Wolffe—the previous DCO—acted as the commander. Him calling could not be good news, unless in his new role he just didn’t have the patience to wait for a SITREP.

“What’s up, sir? I’m a little busy right now. Driving down a goat trail in Tajikistan. SITREP on the operation is coming your way. I was going to send it when I got to the airfield before we went wheels up.”

“Yeah, I know. I’m not pushing, but the National Command Authority has. The president initiated this call. Can you talk?”

I looked in the rearview mirror and saw Jahn staring intently at me. I said, “Hold on, sir. I need to stop and get out.”

I flashed my brake lights and then pulled over to the side of the road, saying, “Knuckles, keep typing. Jahn, no offense, but you can’t hear this.”

He smiled and said, “No offense taken.”

I exited the vehicle and held up my hand, showing the trail vehicle the phone. They’d know why I stopped when they saw it. I walked a few feet away into the desert darkness and said, “Okay, sir, what’s up?”

“We have a mission, but it’s predicated on your last one. Is it complete?”

“Well, if you’d have waited an hour for the SITREP, you’d know that. But I guess now that you’re the DCO, it’s time to start bugging the guys in the field while they’re still running an operation.”

Blaine had been my commander on more Omega operations than I could remember, and he was truly a good man that I respected, so I figured I’d give him some grief, since I was sure he was about to return it in spades.

“Pike, you’re on speakerphone. George Wolffe is here as well.”

Oops.