Page 48 of Whisper

“You are not the beginning of this, Kris. You are not where all of this, all of the hatred, all of the fighting, comes from. Don’t do this to yourself.”

“All I can see, when I close my eyes,” Kris gasped, “are the Twin Towers. The planes. And their faces. Looking up at me from my desk.” He squeezed his eyes closed. Tears spilled from his eyes. “How can you even look at me?”

“Because I see what you don’t. I see the smartest man I’ve ever met. A man dedicated to the fight. To stopping the Taliban, to capturing Bin Laden. I see a man focused on doing the right thing. On being the best he can be. I see a hero, Kris.”

“No…” A sob built in his chest, and he tried to pull free of David’s hold. “No, I’m not.”

“I see a man who came to Afghanistan, and despite everyone’s judgments, everyone’s prejudices, did his job perfectly. You built an alliance with General Khan. You did that. You built that. The people of Afghanistan will have hope, and a future, once we get rid of the Taliban. And we will, because of what you’ve built with Khan. How is that not heroic?”

Kris shook.

“I see a man I care about,” David whispered. “Someone I—” His lips clamped shut. His thumbs stroked over Kris’s cheekbones, wiping away tears. “I see you. I see someone exceptional.”

He pulled Kris in, slowly wrapping his arms around Kris until they were one, huddled on the floor and wrapped around each other, arms and chests pressed so tightly together there was no space between them. Kris trembled, shaking until he thought his body would just fall to pieces. David held him, a fierce hold that surrounded Kris, enveloped him completely, and held him up. Held his bones and his soul in place.

He didn’t know how long they stayed there. It felt like an eternity, listening to Arabic whisper over the radio and Ryan and George snoring in counterpoint. Finally, David pulled him up, guided him back to their room. He unzipped his own sleeping bag and laid Kris inside, deep in the warm folds that smelled like David, that radiated his presence.

Hesitation. David stared into Kris’s eyes, deep into his gaze.

Kris reached for him. His hand shook.

Silently, David slid into the sleeping bag beside Kris, their bodies aligning, folding into each other. A sob caught in Kris’s chest, and fresh tears spilled over the edges of his eyelashes. Arms wound around him, held him close. “It’s not your fault,” David whispered. “It’s madness, it’s hatred, it’s murder, plain and simple. It’s history that got all fucked up. It’s a thousand things other than you. It’s not you, Kris.”

Kris pressed his face into David’s neck and, for the first time, let himself weep.

Chapter 8

Panjshir Valley, Afghanistan

October 14, 2001

“We came here thinking we’d be with the Shura Nazar until April, getting them up to strength. Well, good news. They’re already there. With a little more money, more ammo, and supplies, they’re actually quite fierce. They just need a little extraoomph.” Ryan briefed the team as they sat in the nerve center, struggling against exhaustion.

Ryan grinned, the Special Forces warrior rising within him, poking through the CIA officer. “So, we change the war. We strike first, and we strike now.”

Everyone sat up, suddenly awake, focused on what Ryan was saying.

“CENTCOM is going to begin bombing the areas we’ve designated on all fronts.” Ryan deigned to nod toward Kris and David, sitting together at the back of the semicircle next to the radios and Phillip. They’d mapped the northern front like they’d mapped the Shomali Plain, ducking mortar fire and artillery rounds for three days as they snaked through the mountains with General Hajimullah. “When the first bombs drop, the war will begin.”

George took over. “CENTCOM’s strategic plan is to bomb the Taliban into such an obliterated state that the Shura Nazar can walk right over them. Estimates put the capture of Kabul occurring within days of the first push by the Shura Nazar and General Khan.” He fixed each of them with a long stare. “Which means we need to be ready to move fast. Stay ahead of the fighting and make sure we’re identifying, targeting, capturing, and/or killing senior al-Qaeda members. We capture anyone who can lead us higher for interrogation. We kill the leaders.”

“We fight now, or we’re stuck here through the winter.” As Ryan spoke again, icy wind whistled through the cracks in their compound. Frozen mud clung to their boots. They were all in their warmest clothes, dressed in layers, but it wasn’t enough. The concrete box they were living in was a freezer. They could see their breaths, big puffs in front of their faces.

It would be a long, miserable winter locked in the valley, with no evacuation and no resupply until the snows melted.

Unless they won the war early.

“Is everyone ready? Really ready for this?” George went around the room, asking everyone individually. Twelve people, George’s team and Palmer’s, deciding to start a war.

Kris was the last to speak. “Yes.” George gave him a ghost of a smile.

“Then that’s it. I’ll tell Langley we are ready for CENTCOM to begin combat operations.”

Excitement flooded the valley, electrified the Shura Nazar. Khan drove up personally and shook George and Ryan’s hands, inviting them to feast with him and to watch the bombs fall. George accepted, and after Khan left for the afternoon, he pulled Kris aside and asked for specific advice on how to be a better guest and friend of Khan’s.

Ghasi and Fazl appeared later in the afternoon, buzzing about the imminent combat. “Would you like to watch the bombs? The news reports? We can build a satellite to capture the TV signal,” Fazl offered. Reporters were embedded with the Shura Nazar forces along the front and in occupied Kabul, and just like in the Gulf War, there would be grainy video footage of the bombs falling and flaming clouds rising into the dark night.

Ryan’s eyes boggled. “What took you so long to ask?Hell yes! Here, I’ll help you make it!”