“Surely it’ll be over in a few weeks. The Taliban can’t stand against the Coalition. They’ll either hand over bin Laden, or they’ll go down in flames.”

  He nodded. “Just like they did when the Soviets invaded.”

  Sarah looked distressed. “Charlie, not again, it can’t happen again. The Soviet war went on for years. Nine years, from the end of 1979 to February 1989. When it was all over, they left this country in ruins. More than ten years later, we’re just starting to rebuild. Tell me it’s not happening.”

  He shrugged. “This time, it’s not just the Mujahideen taking pot shots at the Russians with American supplied Stinger missiles. The Taliban has a well-trained, well-equipped, and well-supplied army. They also have bin Laden’s Al Qaeda behind them. All I’m saying is it’s going to be a long war.”

  She looked stricken. “Which means it could spread to here. After all the work we’ve done, and the money we’ve invested, it’ll be worth nothing. I wonder how long we have.”

  “Not long, is my guess.”

  She looked at Tyler, and he went on to explain about the hostiles he’d come across and killed. “Sarah, you need to start preparing for the worst.”

  “I’ll shoot the fuckers if they come this way,” she snarled, and he saw a side to her he hadn’t seen before. He’d assumed her husband Gary, who would have taken security seriously, brought in the stash of guns in the basement. He now realized she had what it took, and she wasn’t about to hand over the fruits of her hard work to a bunch of medieval savages. She also had something worth protecting, her son.

  He put a protective arm around her shoulder. “Sarah, if a major war breaks out inside the country, you may not have any choice but to leave. A war in Afghanistan would be a civil war, like the American Civil War, neighbor against neighbor, state against state, city against city. Northern Alliance against Taliban, with Pakistan waiting in the wings to pick the meat off the bones.”

  He saw a tear trickle down from her eye. “Then I’m finished.”

  He didn’t know why he said it, but it kind of came out spontaneously. “Not while I’m around. I’ll do what I can to protect you, you know I will.”

  “And I will fight, too,” Javed said. They’d forgotten him lying on the sofa, shrouded in blankets. “Mrs. Glass, you’ve been good to me, and I won’t forget it. If they come here, I will kill them with my father’s rifle.”

  She smiled her gratitude, but Tyler felt a churning in his guts. The Islamists preached Jihad and an unending religious war. Not quite unending, it would finish when the last man died. Or woman, they weren’t too fussy. The specter of death suddenly loomed large and dark over the rural tranquility of the ranch, although they didn’t have to have it all their own way. Death was neutral. If the Talibs wanted to unleash the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse on this particular patch of Asia, so be it. It could work two ways. Death wasn’t choosy.

  Fuck ‘em; it’s time to bring on the pain.

  He fished out his satphone and checked the state of charge. Not good, down to less than five percent, but enough for a call. Tony Hammett, the CIA merc who’d intervened at Bande Pitaw, was on speed dial, and he answered after nearly a half minute.

  “Joe, what is it? Are you okay?”

  “I’m good, but I want you to get a message through to Coalition Headquarters. I have information they can use, the position of a major Taliban force.”

  “I’m listening.”

  He recited the coordinates of the Taliban camp. “They’re sheltering inside shallow caves dotted around the hillside. Positioned between here and Chiras.”

  “I’ll pass this on. It’s useful intel. We have UAVs in the sky, but if these gomers are hunkered inside caves, they may have missed them. Thanks for that, Joe. We’ll get our guys to send them a nice Christmas present.”

  “The Taliban aren’t Christians.”

  “They’ll wish they were when the bombs start falling on their heads. Call me if you get anything else we can use.” He chuckled, “Like the whereabouts of Osama.”

  “If I knew, I’d waste the bastard.”

  “You’d be in a long queue, my friend. I’ll call them now, and thanks. Leave it to our guys to deal with them.”

  He ended the call and looked at Sarah and Charlie Savage. “If the war is about to reach this place, I just evened up the odds some. But there’s a long way to go.”

  “And a lot of killing before it ends,” the reporter said, his voice ominous.

  “My sister…” Javed said.

  “I’ll get her back,” he replied, “Don’t worry, I won’t wait for the raid. I’ll leave soon, and find a way to get around them.”

  “I’m coming with you.”

  Sarah’s tone didn’t brook any argument, but he began to work out how he could dissuade her. A second later he knew he was wasting his time.

  “Don’t try and put me off, Joe Tyler. I’ll follow, and make it difficult for you. You need me, Joe. You can’t do it all on your own.”

  “What about Junior? Who’ll take care of him?”

  “Layla will be fine on her own. She’s very capable, and I have the men who work the ranch. They won’t let anything bad happen to either of them.”

  He stared from one to the other, and at Javed, his face pinched with sickness. Finally, he gave in. “Okay, we leave in thirty minutes. You’ll need guns and plenty of ammo. I’ll get the packs off the horse and reload them with more supplies. This could take longer than I thought.”

  He stopped when he heard Javed’s shout. “What is it?”

  “The minefields. What I have told you will not be enough. I will have to show you the start of the path. It is well hidden.”

  “You’re not fit, Javed. You must stay here and rest.”

  “Then you will die, and Maryam will die. Please, let me show you how to avoid them. Uncle Nasrat, you will help me, won’t you? For Maryam.”

  A sigh. “Yes, I will help, but you don’t go further than this new path. Then I bring you back.”

  Joe looked at Sarah. “This is starting to look complicated.”

  * * *

  The Regional Military Commander of the Taliban, Ghulam Samar, listened to his ally Mullah Habib Ahmadi. Ahmadi’s right-hand man and bodyguard, Mahmud Pazira, a hard-bitten Taliban fighter who also acted as his driver, waited nearby. He watched and listened to his boss, careful to conceal his doubts.

  “We should attack, now, Commander Samar! Before more of their troops arrive in the region.”

  Ghulam Samar was impassive. “Attack where?”

  The Mullah waved a hand in the general direction of the south. “Toward their forward base, of course. The infidels are assembling outside Bamyan, readying their armies to attack north. They’ll hit Chiras first and drive toward Mazari Sharif. I say we should hit them first. Destroy them.”

  The other man nodded, appearing to be thinking, his eyes half closed. When they opened, they stared at Ahmadi with a fierce intensity. “No doubt you have a solution to the problem of their fighter bombers, Mullah. The ground attack aircraft, the A-10s, and AH-64 Apache gunships. Fighter bombers, F/A 18s, and then the B-52s. They fly so high all we see is the contrails in the sky where they have passed.”

  “We can shoot them down. We have the missiles.” He leered, “Stinger missiles, American missiles against American aircraft. It is poetic, is it not, Commander?”

  “Stinger missiles? You are aware they have an effective range of a little over seven kilometers?”

  He looked uncomfortable. “I am not conversant with technical matters, as you well know. I am a mere messenger of God, no more.”

  Samar nodded. “That may be, but you should know the B-52s can fly at a height of fifteen thousand meters. How would you intercept them with a Stinger?”

  “The North Vietnamese dealt with them, when they bombed Hanoi during the Vietnam War.”

  “The North Vietnamese had massive logistical support from the Soviet Union. Fixed and mobile surface-to-air, long-range anti-aircraft missile systems. We have none.”

  “But we…”

  Samar put up a hand to stop him. “We have stealth and mobility, and we will use those tools to help up prevail over the infidel. That will have to suffice.”

  Ahmadi decided it was time to show him that Islam had another answer. “We have more than stealth and mobility, Commander Samar. Allow me to explain about my martyrs.”

  Samar listened, and when he’d finished, he called for fresh coffee. “This is indeed a reason to celebrate, Mullah. With such brave young boys, we can move mountains.”

  “Boys and girls. One girl,” Ahmadi interjected, “They will rain fiery destruction on all who dare to invade our Islamic Paradise.”

  He looked concerned. “A girl, that is unusual.”

  “Who am I to deny a volunteer their chance of Paradise and immortality?”

  He nodded. “I was thinking the same thing. Mullah Ahmadi, you must show me these volunteers. I would like to meet them.”

  “Yes, Commander Samar, I will make the arrangements. These people will be in the forefront of our new Islamic Paradise.”

  Samar swapped a glance with the grizzled veteran Mahmud Pazira. Unlike Ahmadi, both men had seen action in the Soviet war, and recalled their previous shabby and impoverished way of life inside the ‘Islamic Paradise’ before the Russians arrived. Both men had sons who were dear to them, and losing the flower of the nation’s youth to regain such a shabby reward was hard to swallow, even if it was the ‘Will of Allah.’

  Any victory will be hollow indeed if the bravest and best are dead when the shooting stops. Although if the deaths are essential for us to win the war, what choice do we have? Victory requires sacrifice, and we will accept many such sacrifices to enable us to take our place within the corridors of power in Kabul.

  Samar smiled.

  Provided it’s someone else’s sacrifice.

  Ahmadi didn’t notice the silent exchange, and he raised his newly refilled coffee cup.

  “A toast. To death.”

  They copied the gesture. “To death.”

  * * *

  The temporary headquarters was outside the town of Bamyan. Three-star General Robert Pike, in overall command of Coalition Forces, and Afghan General Kabir were in discussion. Pike felt irritated and was struggling to contain his anger.

  “Listen to me, General Shah. You’re complaining about American troops calling the shots during joint actions with your men, but you must understand, our guys have the experience and the weapons to do the job. Your troops…” he stopped, lost for words, working out a diplomatic way of saying their Afghan allies were worse than useless, “Your troops lack some of that experience, and their weaponry has a record of being unreliable. We have to take charge; don’t you see that?”

  “What I see, General Pike, is your men riding roughshod over our troops, and they don’t like it. Our civilians see the Americans in charge, and it looks more like an invasion than assistance. We Afghans must take the lead in all military matters.”

  Then you’ll lose, pal. Your men couldn’t fight their way out of a paper bag, and you know it.

  “Perhaps we could help with more training. Give us time, and we’ll have better equipment we can supply you with.”

  The fierce reply shot back at him. “We can buy our own equipment. But we need more money. Give us the money, and we can be every bit as equal as the best of your American troops.”

  And you’ll steal nine out of every ten dollars we hand over, leaving your men as badly equipped as they are now.

  “American policy is to supply the weapons direct, and to issue them to units we can actively monitor.”

  “We can monitor our own men, General.”

  Apart from the ones who don’t exist, except as phantoms on the military payroll, so the officers can collect their pay. Which means you’re woefully understrength.

  He kept the easy smile plastered on his face. “Of course you can monitor your own men. We’re just trying to help. If we could…”

  He stopped, as an aide approached and whispered in his ear.

  He nodded. “Send him in.”

  A minute later, a man entered the room. He wore a mix of civilian and military kit, and he nodded to the senior officers. “Gentlemen, I’m Tony Hammett, attached to our intelligence people.”

  “CIA mercenaries,” Shah murmured in disgust.

  Pike ignored him. “What can we do for you, Mr. Hammett?”

  “A short time ago I called in a report on a Taliban force encamped a few klicks outside the town of Chiras.”

  “I heard about that, yes.”

  “I’m here to confirm the report in person, and to ask what you’ve done about it.”

  “Done?” He looked at Hammett, and then at Shah, “It’s not that simple, Hammett. There are, er, local feelings to consider.”

  “Feelings?”

  “We passed on the information to General Shah here for evaluation.”

  He nodded to the Afghan officer. “His opinion is that we need to investigate further.” He smiled, “I’m sure you understand, he doesn’t want us killing innocent shepherds. It’s a sure-fire way to upset the locals. We need to win hearts and minds, Mr. Hammett. That’s why we’re here. We’re looking into it.”

  “I thought we were here to kick out the Taliban, restore democracy, and arrest or kill bin Laden.”

  “Of course, of course. But not at the expense of alienating the locals.”

  He looked at General Shah, who nodded his approval. “We’ll check out the information in due course, and if there’s anything in it, we’ll deal with it. The information you gave us may not be reliable, and we have to know for sure.” He paused and lowered his voice, as if to emphasize the gravity of the situation, “Frankly, I think the guy who called it in could be mistaken. Like I said, our intelligence assets, especially the UAVs, haven’t picked up this ‘enemy force’ of yours. But we’ll keep looking.”

  General Khan was shaking his head. “There are no Taliban in that area, I promise you. My own men would have made a report if that were the case. I have patrols constantly out searching the countryside.”

  Hammett exchanged a glance with General Pike. Both Americans knew the truth. Their patrols would be anywhere but where they were supposed to be. Drinking and whoring in the nearest town, or busy arranging some scam to sell their equipment to the enemy.

  He looked back at both Generals. “They’re there. The source is solid gold, personally known to me. You’ll find the Taliban, General. A hundred of them, they’re out there in strength. And soon they’ll hit your troops in the last place you’re expecting it.”

  Pike gave him a wintry smile. “That’s a chance I’ll have to take. Like I said, without proper corroboration, I don’t intend to drop bombs on a bunch of innocent farmers.”

  Hammett shook his head. “General, you’re making a big mistake. A very big mistake, and your own men will pay for it.”

  He sighed. “Evidence, Hammett, I need concrete evidence. You don’t have any, and that’s the clincher. You don’t understand the bigger picture, although you can still help us. Take a look at this map.” He walked to the huge map of Afghanistan that covered an entire wall.

  “We’re here,” he stabbed a finger around Bamyan, “When we’re ready we’ll be heading north, driving through Chiras toward Mazari Sharif. That’s our next objective. I want you to go there, and find out approximate numbers of insurgents, which towns and villages they hold, and which they don’t. Do that, and forget about these caves. Report back to me ASAP, so we can finalize our planning. Is that clear?”

  “General…”

  “You have your orders, Mister, so see you carry them out. We’re finished here, Hammett. You’re dismissed.” He glanced at Khan. “General, we must discuss how to best use your troops in the coming action. Command and control, tactical and strategic objectives, we have a lot of ground to cover.”

  It was like they’d forgotten he was there. He spun on his heel and left the two Generals debating some arcane point of strategy. While they were playing politics and war games, the enemy was building their strength.

  Chris Murphy, the big, black former Army Ranger, was waiting for him when he got outside. “What’s the score, Tony? Are they sending in B-52s to bomb their asses, or will it be A-10s to shoot the shit out of them?”

  “Neither. They say they need more evidence to prove the existence of the enemy. They didn’t believe me, especially after the Afghans said they’d sent patrols into the area and found nothing.”

  “Shit. The bastards don’t want to know, and the Afghans say they’re not there because they can’t be bothered to look hard enough. What more evidence could they want?”

  A shrug. “They just said they wanted more.”

  “Like what? Do they want Tyler to shoot them a home movie? Scenes of smiling and waving Talibs, firing their AKs into the air like it’s a big celebration?”

  “Something like that.”

  “It’s bullshit. If they won’t listen, what are we here for?”

  “Yeah, that’s another thing. We’ve been ordered to the Mazari Sharif region. Usual stuff, recon, and report back to the brass anything we find.”

  He grimaced. “The job’s here and now, not halfway across the country. When do they want us to leave?”

  “ASAP, the General said.”

  He sighed. “Okay, we’ll borrow a Humvee and load our gear. They can charge it to CIA.”

  He left, and Hammett was thinking hard. He found them an hour later in the military SUV. They’d loaded with their provisions, extra fuel in cans strapped around the bodywork, and an M60 machine gun mounted in an armored cupola on the roof. Murphy poked his head out from behind the shield.

  “We’re all set to go. Ready when you are.”

  Diaz appeared from under the vehicle, where he’d been making last minute checks that everything was bolted down and secure. He climbed behind the wheel, and O’Donnell appeared from behind a building, carrying a wooden crate. “Claymores, just in case. I made a deal with the armorer. Mazari Sharif is liable to be hot.”