Page 5 of What Remains (John Worthy #3)

By the time Flowers slid their vehicle into a large mudbrick building and alongside the other two Humvees, the others had dismounted and were arranging their gear.

Except, John noted, for Mac and Shahida.

The two had moved off from the others and seemed to be in some sort of quiet argument.

No raised voices, no shouts, no waving of arms. But Shahida was shaking her head in an emphatic negative while Mac leaned in.

From his body language, the man was at the end of his tether.

Trouble in Paradise? Interesting, if true.

These were Shahida’s kids, boys she and Driver’s men had rescued from lives spent as playthings for pedophiles.

Many of the older boys had eventually become fighters under her command against the Taliban.

Even if that hadn’t been the case, he could understand why she wouldn’t want to leave a single kid behind.

From what he’d gathered, Mac already had doubts whether they could really get them all on a transport.

There were just as many Afghans who’d worked for the Americans and deserved to get out, too.

Maybe that’s what they’re arguing about. He shrugged on his pack. Maybe there are just too many kids. Unless ? —

“Hey.” When he turned, Roni gave him a tense smile that showed no teeth. “Everything go okay?” she asked.

“Fine.” How could anything be bad when I’m near you? “Other than Flowers really ought to try a Monster Truck derby.”

“What?” she asked, her brows knit, at the same moment that Flowers said, “Hey, I resemble that remark.”

Meeks, who was nearby, only rolled his eyes. “He do that to you, too? He’s like that when he gets jacked on caffeine. That Red Bull habit of his?—”

“Enough chit chat!” Mac gave a brusque clap of his hands, like a scout master rallying a bunch of bored ten-year-olds.

Which, oddly, John thought they sort of were.

“We need to get a move on here,” Mac said in his clipped, almost Brahmin accent.

Anyone listening to the man might be forgiven for thinking him British.

“We have a number of boys to process and only limited time—and space. ” This last he seemed to direct at Shahida, who now stood with Musa, the two of them looking thunderous.

Clearly, their argument with the CIA agent hadn’t gone in Shahida’s favor.

John put his hand up. “Can I ask a question?”

Mac looked first startled and then pissed. “Yes, Worthy, what is it?”

“You said we have kids to process.”

“Yes,” Mac said. “ And ?”

“And, well, processing means making sure the kids are fit to fly.”

Mac’s jaw worked as if he were mouthing something foul. “Do you have a point?”

John squeezed a bit of air between two fingers. “Just a teeny-weenie one. What happens if we find a kid who isn’t fit to fly?”

Silence. Everyone swapped glances. Finally, Roni said, “I haven’t found that to be the case, John.” At the same moment Shahida declared, “We no leave any boy behind.”

John put up both hands. “Whoa, whoa, easy. I’m just trying to understand what you want me to do. If I do find something, I need to know now whether or not I should outright lie . You know, falsify a record and in so doing, maybe put other people at risk. Little things like that.”

More outraged noises from Shahida, some shuffling of feet, but it was what Mac said next that struck home.

“Why, lie , obviously. In fact, I should think lying is something at which you excel given all your years of practice.” And then Mac’s lips curled into a smile a crocodile would envy. “Isn’t that right, Captain?”