Page 45 of Whisper

And something else, too. Something he’d found when he was a teen in America, a part of himself he’d walled off instantly. But between Afghanistan and Kris, between the prayers and the whispers and the pull toward Mecca, toward Libya, toward his memories, and between the tug in the center of his being toward Kris, as insistent as the constant of gravity, he was splitting apart.

He kept firing until he was out of bullets, and until the whispers and the pulls on his soul were buried again.

“Kris? Can you join me on this call to Langley?”

Numb, Kris followed George to the waiting satellite connection that would be the end of his tenure on the team. His jaw locked, closed around words he couldn’t speak. Shame scraped his insides like a rake.

He felt David’s eyes on him. David had stayed scarce until dinner, no longer haunting the halls of their compound or lingering by the bonfire.

Kris had stayed outside until his fingers went numb, knuckles stiff from the cold and fingertips turning blue. He’d wanted to soak up as much Afghanistan as he could, feel the life of the people, the land, one last time. Khan’s voice, his fractured words, detailing the deprivations and degradations his people had endured at the hands of the Taliban, across the crackle and spit of the fire, looped in his mind. How did the world stop bad people from hurting good ones?

What kind of person was he? Where did he fit on the scales?

He couldn’t answer that. He just didn’t know.

He’d spent the afternoon typing up a report on his and David’s time on the front lines. Everything had gone in, from David’s analysis of the Shura Nazar to his photos of the front and of the Taliban. Khan and his forces, not so starved and helpless as Langley had once believed. Their conversation by the fire and Khan’s quiet plea for help for the people of Mazar-e-Sharif. He’d turned it in earlier and started to pack.

George had the satellite phone on speaker, and the hisses and pops, the scratch-filled background to their tenuous secured connection, filled the empty nerve center. It sounded like they were talking to the past.

“Kris!” Clint Williams’s booming voice powered over the pops and screeching wails. “Fantastic report on the front. This is outstanding. Excellent job.”

“Thank you, sir.”

“Give me your no-bullshit assessment, Kris. Tell me about the Shura Nazar. Can they fight?”

“Absolutely. Theyhavebeen fighting, for years. The Taliban have pushed them back because they have more money and they can buy off rival warlords. Or buy secondhand military hardware from Russia or China. Right now, the Shura Nazar and the Taliban are at a stalemate, but the balance is tipping toward the Taliban with the rush of foreign fighters pouring into Afghanistan to offer their assistance. With no intervention, the Shura Nazar will fall next spring.”

George nodded along with Kris. “I concur with Kris’s analysis, Clint.”

“So does Langley. We’ve had our analysts here dissecting your report, along with everything else we have, and they came to the same conclusion. Gentlemen, what is the plan?”

George raised his eyebrows at Kris. “Thoughts?”

What was this? Hadn’t he been ignobly told to pack his bags and clear out, be on the next chopper to Tashkent? Kris hesitated, holding George’s stare. “The Taliban front lines are exposed. They defend against artillery and small arms fire only. Taliban positions are target-rich for an aerial bombing campaign. If the US can pound the Taliban positions and break the front lines, the Shura Nazar will be able to storm through. We just need to open the door for them.”

“We need to bring the rain, Clint. If we do that, the Shura Nazar will win the war. And it could happen fast.”

“Which means we need to be ready to capture the foreign fighters and al-Qaeda members when this whole thing blows up.” Williams sighed over the line, a long string of static. “Kris, CENTCOM agrees with your assessment that Mazar-e-Sharif is the key to northern Afghanistan. Mazar and Taloquan both. The current strategy is to liberate both of those cities, and then move on Kabul.”

“That will bolster the Shura Nazar, thin out the Taliban, and cut off their attempts to pinch the Shura Nazar when they move on Kabul.”

“And the military is tickled pink about having Uzbekistan so close to Mazar. CENTCOM is already working on propping up field bases there for resupply and combat missions,” Williams said. “So you guys need to get up to the northern front and get another GPS survey done. We need to know where the lines are outside these two cities. Where we can start dropping some bombs. And where we can insert a second CIA team outside Mazar.”

“We’ll get it done.” George scribbled notes as Williams spoke. His gaze darted to Kris. “Sir, there’s one more thing.”

Kris closed his eyes.

“Sir, Kris has made significant inroads with the Shura Nazar leadership. He’s become the liaison between the Shura Nazar and our team, and the CIA as a whole. During their negotiations, Kris learned of the Shura Nazar’s need for humanitarian resupply. There’s a famine in the valley and people are struggling. He’s promised an airlift of food. What can we do about getting that filled?”

Williams was quiet. Static filled the line. “I’ll make some calls. We’ll get the Air Force to make a drop within forty-eight hours. I’ll send you the coordinates when I have them. Kris… Well done. Really. Well done.”

“Thank you, sir.” Kris stared at George, jaw hanging. He tried to speak, but George shook his head.

“We’ll call you with an update in twelve hours, Clint.”

“Keep up the fantastic work. The president is impressed. So am I.”

The line cut.