Read Online Tom Clancy's Ghost Recon: Combat Ops by David Michaels - Free Book Online

volunteered. But when Hila was born, I decided to leave.”
    “They threatened you?” “You mean the Taliban?” I nodded.
    “Of course. If you help the Americans, you suffer the consequences.”
    “You’re taking a pretty big risk right now,” I pointed out.
    “Not really. Besides, I owe you.”
    “For what? You helped me capture that man.”
    “And you helped me get him out of my house. I was afraid for my wife and daughter. In most cases it is for bidden for a woman to be in the presence of a man who is not related to her—but I am more liberal than that.”
    “Glad to hear it.”
    As if on cue, the wife and daughter entered and pro vided all of us with tea. I took a long pull on my cup and relished the flavor, which somehow tasted like pista chios.
    “So, Scott, what do you do for the Army?” “I take care of problems.”
    “But you cannot do it alone. You want my help.”
    “I don’t trust you. I don’t trust anyone here. But my job would be easier, and fewer innocent people would get hurt, if I could get some help.”
    “What do you need?” “Not what. Who.”
    Shilmani took a deep breath and stroked his thin beard. “You’ve come for Zahed.”
    I smiled. “Why not?” “Because that’s impossible.”
    “Nothing’s impossible,” said Ramirez.
    “He has too many friends, even American friends, and too many connections. He has too many assets for you to ever get close. They always know when you’re coming. And they’re always prepared. They have eyes on your base every hour of every day. You cannot leave without them knowing about it.”
    “So they know I’m here.”
    “Yes, they do.”
    “And I’ve already put you in danger?”
    “No, because I work for Mirab Mir Burki, who is the master of water distribution here in Zhari.”
    “I don’t understand.”
    “Burki knows you Americans want to dig a new well. He wants that well, and he’s already negotiated with Zahed over rights to the water and the profits. We’re just waiting for you to build it. Any contact I have with Americans is part of our water negotiations—so as you might say, I have a good cover.”
    “What is it you want?”
    “What all men want. Money. Safety for my family. A better life.” Shilmani finished his tea, then topped off our cups and refilled his own.
    “You want to see Zahed captured?”
    “He’s not a good influence here—despite what others may say. He does not break promises, but when he gives you something, the price is always very steep.”
    “Kundi seems to like him.”
    “That old man is a fool, and Zahed would put a knife in his back. There is no loyalty there.”
    “Would you go over to Sangsar and work for us?”
    Shilmani’s gaze turned incredulous. “No. Of course not.”
    “But you said you wanted money. I can work out an arrangement that would be very good for you—and your family.”
    “I am no good to my family if I’m dead.”
    “We can protect you.”
    “You’re not a good liar, Scott.”
    We finished the tea, and Shilmani’s wife and daughter served rice and an onion-based quorma or stew, along with chutneys, pickles, and naan—an unleavened bread baked in a clay oven. The food was delicious, and the wife continued urging us to eat more.
    Afterward, while his family retreated to the back of the house, Shilmani wiped his mouth, then stared hard at me. “You have to remember something, Scott. After all of you are gone, we are left to pick up the pieces. We’re just trying to do the best we can for ourselves.”
    I stood. “I know that. Thanks for the meal. If you want to give me some information about Zahed, I’ll pay for it. If you change your mind about going to Sangsar, then just tell one of the soldiers on patrol that you want to speak to me. I’ll get the word.”
    “Okay. And one more thing. Walk in my shoes for a moment. I cannot trust the Taliban. I cannot trust my village elder or my boss. I cannot trust the district gov ernor. And I cannot trust you,