Lady?” replied Hoyt with his characteristic feigned disrespect for his wife. “She’s off playing mahjong somewhere.”
Harvath shook his head.
“What?”
“I don’t know why you talk about her like that.”
Hoyt looked at Gallagher and shrugged his shoulders. “She left an hour ago to play mahjong, right?”
“That’s what she said,” replied Gallagher.
Harvath was about to make a crack about Hoyt’s marital skills when the compound’s majordomo stepped out of the main building. He was a chubby, thirty-year-old Afghan with slicked-back hair and a pointy goatee. He was the youngest of eight children, and his parents had given him the Urdu name for pine flower. Hoyt had found that hysterical, and since the name was too hard to pronounce, everyone just called him Flower.
Flower recognized Harvath immediately and walked right over. The two men gave each other the customary Afghan greeting and embraced.
“It’s good to see you, Flower,” said Harvath. “How is your family?”
Flower smiled and replied, “Good, Mr. Scot. Good. I have two more boys now.”
“ Two? How many does that make total?”
“Four boys. One girl,” beamed Flower.
“And his wife’s pregnant again,” replied Gallagher.
“Flower,” quipped Hoyt. “Maybe I should give your wife Mei’s TV set.”
Harvath laughed. “That’s great. When is she due?”
“Any time,” said Flower as he pulled his cell phone from his pocket and held it up, indicating he was on call.
“Congratulations.”
Flower bent and picked up Harvath’s bags. “I’ll take you to your room.”
While Mei managed the compound, Flower was in charge of the heavy lifting. When the municipal power went out, which happened daily all over Afghanistan, the call went out for Flower to fire up the auxiliary generator. If someone needed a ride, they called Flower. If you needed anything from the market—Flower. And even though he couldn’t shoot to save his life, he knew how to point a sawed-off shotgun in the right direction and look imposing, so Gallagher and Hoyt even took him on operations from time to time.
Flower had a bedroom at the compound, which not coincidentally was the closest to the gate, so he was also the de facto porter. Harvath had no idea when the man ever had time to see his wife and children, much less make more. Flower took his job very seriously and worked harder than most people Harvath had met.
The single-story compound was laid out in a rough U shape. In the center was a long courtyard and next to it a small parking pad big enough to hold three vehicles if you parked them bumper to bumper. Right now it was empty except for ISS’s sole armored vehicle—a Toyota pickup.
There were seven bedrooms, each with a tiny bathroom and handheld shower. Every bedroom had its own entrance and one window that faced onto the courtyard. There was a kitchen and a long communal room that functioned as the compound’s bar, dining room, and entertainment center. Detached from the main building was a small structure that housed ISS’s communications and strategic operations center. On the roof were a series of satellite dishes and antennas.
Flower walked Harvath to his room, set the bags inside, and turned the heater on via a small remote. “Very cold at night,” he offered.
There was a small wardrobe, a desk, and a single bed with one thin blanket on it. Harvath knew the weak wall heater and his current bedding weren’t going to cut it.
Reaching into his pocket, he withdrew a handful of Afghanis and peeled off several large notes. “The store on the corner has those thick wool blankets hanging outside. Can you go down and buy me a couple, please?”
Flower nodded. “Anything else?”
Harvath rattled off a short list and once the man had gone, he closed the door and unpacked his bags.
Tearing up the lining in each suitcase, he removed the stacks of currency and placed them in a small backpack along with his laptop. He fished another
Harvath shook his head.
“What?”
“I don’t know why you talk about her like that.”
Hoyt looked at Gallagher and shrugged his shoulders. “She left an hour ago to play mahjong, right?”
“That’s what she said,” replied Gallagher.
Harvath was about to make a crack about Hoyt’s marital skills when the compound’s majordomo stepped out of the main building. He was a chubby, thirty-year-old Afghan with slicked-back hair and a pointy goatee. He was the youngest of eight children, and his parents had given him the Urdu name for pine flower. Hoyt had found that hysterical, and since the name was too hard to pronounce, everyone just called him Flower.
Flower recognized Harvath immediately and walked right over. The two men gave each other the customary Afghan greeting and embraced.
“It’s good to see you, Flower,” said Harvath. “How is your family?”
Flower smiled and replied, “Good, Mr. Scot. Good. I have two more boys now.”
“ Two? How many does that make total?”
“Four boys. One girl,” beamed Flower.
“And his wife’s pregnant again,” replied Gallagher.
“Flower,” quipped Hoyt. “Maybe I should give your wife Mei’s TV set.”
Harvath laughed. “That’s great. When is she due?”
“Any time,” said Flower as he pulled his cell phone from his pocket and held it up, indicating he was on call.
“Congratulations.”
Flower bent and picked up Harvath’s bags. “I’ll take you to your room.”
While Mei managed the compound, Flower was in charge of the heavy lifting. When the municipal power went out, which happened daily all over Afghanistan, the call went out for Flower to fire up the auxiliary generator. If someone needed a ride, they called Flower. If you needed anything from the market—Flower. And even though he couldn’t shoot to save his life, he knew how to point a sawed-off shotgun in the right direction and look imposing, so Gallagher and Hoyt even took him on operations from time to time.
Flower had a bedroom at the compound, which not coincidentally was the closest to the gate, so he was also the de facto porter. Harvath had no idea when the man ever had time to see his wife and children, much less make more. Flower took his job very seriously and worked harder than most people Harvath had met.
The single-story compound was laid out in a rough U shape. In the center was a long courtyard and next to it a small parking pad big enough to hold three vehicles if you parked them bumper to bumper. Right now it was empty except for ISS’s sole armored vehicle—a Toyota pickup.
There were seven bedrooms, each with a tiny bathroom and handheld shower. Every bedroom had its own entrance and one window that faced onto the courtyard. There was a kitchen and a long communal room that functioned as the compound’s bar, dining room, and entertainment center. Detached from the main building was a small structure that housed ISS’s communications and strategic operations center. On the roof were a series of satellite dishes and antennas.
Flower walked Harvath to his room, set the bags inside, and turned the heater on via a small remote. “Very cold at night,” he offered.
There was a small wardrobe, a desk, and a single bed with one thin blanket on it. Harvath knew the weak wall heater and his current bedding weren’t going to cut it.
Reaching into his pocket, he withdrew a handful of Afghanis and peeled off several large notes. “The store on the corner has those thick wool blankets hanging outside. Can you go down and buy me a couple, please?”
Flower nodded. “Anything else?”
Harvath rattled off a short list and once the man had gone, he closed the door and unpacked his bags.
Tearing up the lining in each suitcase, he removed the stacks of currency and placed them in a small backpack along with his laptop. He fished another
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