Page 93 of Deadly Strain

Chapter Twenty-One

“Now, Doc, no need tobe like that,” Sharp said to her.

What was that smile doing on his face? The one that made him look like he’d won a lottery.

“I’m sick, remember?” she said, and worked on finishing her food. Right now, sleep sounded like the safest thing she could do for her mental health.

Sharp suddenly straightened and turned to face the tunnel. The other soldiers quickly followed suit and within a second or two, all of them were on full alert, weapons in hand.

CIA emerged out of the dark, breathing a little too fast, his face a little too pale.

“Are we blown?” Sharp asked him, getting to his feet.

“No,” CIA panted. “Worse. The dead village your men were guarding came under attack by a large group of extremists. We’re not clear on which group it is, but all contact has been lost.”

“Fuck,” Sharp swore. “Leonard was there with Bart and Lee, along with some of Marshall’s men.”

“A group of Afghan soldiers has also gone missing.”

“Missing?”

“There’s been no contact from them in more than twenty-four hours.”

“Why is that relevant?” Falcon asked.

“Their last known check-in was only about forty kilometers from the village, farther north and west toward Tajikistan.”

“I don’t understand,” Grace said, unable to read the expressions on the men’s faces to figure out what was going on.

“Extremists have been moving around that part of the world,” Sharp explained. “From Syria east through Iraq, Iran and toward Afghanistan. They’re gathering strength in Turkmenistan, Uzbekistan, and Tajikistan.”

“If a group came into Afghanistan from Tajikistan, hit that Afghan patrol and your village, it could mean the beginning of a new offensive of extremists.”

“They sure as heck don’t want the current government to succeed,” Sharp agreed. “Killing a bunch of American soldiers and making Afghans disappear gives them credibility and power with locals and other groups.” He turned to CIA. “Has anyone or any group claimed responsibility for any of this?”

“No, but an unknown militant group has demanded that all American troops leave the country immediately or the Afghan troops will be executed.”

Grace listened to the men discussing these latest developments, but remained confused by them. The anthrax attack seemed unconnected to these acts. They were days apart, for one thing. The disappearance of the Afghans appeared to be politically motivated, while no one had even mentioned the anthrax attack, for another.

So why did something about all of this feel off?

“Who’s in command of American troops in this part of the world?” she asked of no one in particular.

“General Stone,” Sharp said.