Page 35 of What Remains

A thoughtdidoccur to him which he didn’t voice: the cruelty in shutting down for the night without telling the thousands patiently waiting beyond the gates that no one would return in the morning.

“Well, then,” Drummond said, consulting his watch, “I will leave you to it. Oh, and give my regards to Mac. Remind him, please, that he still owes me a bottle of Macallan ‘72.”

“Okay.” Therehadto be a story behind that one, not the least of which that the two men had worked together in the past. Which was…interesting. Whoever Mac was or whomever he worked for, the guy wasn’t the usual flavor of CIA worker-bee. Although to be fair, John didn’t know anyone in the CIA.

Unless Mac was something else altogether?

“Thanks for your help,” he said, and stuck out a hand. As they shook, he asked, “So, tell me, Major, since when is the British military intelligence working with the CIA?”

By way of reply, Drummond gave him a bland look, though his mouth twitched into a fractional grin.

“Drive safely, Captain,” he said. “And do buckle up.”

5

The next twohours and fifty minutes were spectacularly uneventful. In fact, now that the present urgency was past, a deepening torpor crept through his body. The feeling was similar to the letdown after a code or trauma case. A body could only be on high alert for so long. So, he shifted a lot in his seat, widened his eyes, wished the Humvee had a radio. Wished Kazim spoke better English or seemed more inclined to conversation. Which the boy didn’t and wasn’t. Every time he flicked a look, the kid was making like a Marine: alert, head on a swivel, the whole nine yards, except for those brief moments when their gazes locked and the boy gave a sharp nod, as if to sayon it, boss. Which was probably fine. After all, the kid wasn’t going to see him after this evening and there wasn’t a single conversational gambit which came to mind that was safe. He couldn’t even joke around:Say, how about those Yankees?

Nothing for it, but to stay awake.But, man, I’d settle for a couple Red Bulls.Now he understood why Flowers had needed all that caffeine. Better jacked than bone-weary.Should’ve grabbed a thermos of coffee.Or something. The Humvee didn’t have even a radio for distraction.

He was feeling a letdown, that was all, and wasn’t that normal? After all, everything was pretty downhill after this. Their biggest hurdle would be getting past the Panjir Pump and into the base, but he thought that given the lack of problemsleaving, slipping back with a passel of kids ought to be a cakewalk. Seriously, look, how quickly and efficiently Mac had gotten Drummond to the rendezvous. A guy like Mac would never leave anything to chance. Drummond, he sensed, would also make sure their way back in was smoothed. The guy would pass on the message that they were all due in at such and such a time and then that would make it to Mac’s command.

Ah, but thatdidraise an interesting thought. Did Machavea command? He must. Yeah, Mac was CIA. Unless he was a very specialtypeof CIA?—

“John!”

“What?” More of an automatic exclamation than a true question. He was so startled, his heart catapulted into the back of his throat and his arms gave a convulsive jerk, sending the Humvee into a swerve. In the next instant, he felt then heard the tires go from a relatively smooth surface to the jolt and grumble of rock and hardpack. Swearing, he brought the vehicle back onto the road, eased up on the gas then braked.“What?”Rounding on the boy, he inserted a hint of steel. “What thehell?—”

“Look!” Leaning forward, Kazim jabbed a finger to the right. “There!”

“What?” The huge orange ball of the setting sun hung off his left shoulder. Scanning the flatland to his right, he recognized the ruins of the village amidst dried-up irrigation ditches, all splashed the color of dried blood. “Where? I don’t see anything that doesn’t belong?—”

The boy cut him off. “Notthere. Other way, look, here,here! On Kohe Koran!”

He recognized the name of the mountain Flowers had pointed out that morning. Squinting, he ran his gaze along the base and up-slope but saw nothing but folds and ridges and scrub. “I don’t understand,” he said, perplexed, fighting a new wave of exhaustion as the adrenaline spike of apprehension and surprise faded. “What am I supposed to be seeing?”

“You don’tsee?” The boy sounded incredulous. “You don’t seewolves?”

Wolves? Right, hadn’t Flowers spotted a whole pack? The man had known what to look for; John didn’t and then Flowers said…

Oh, for pity’s sake.Reaching past the boy, he popped the glove box, pawed past the flare gun and spare cartridges, and dragged out the binos he’d used that morning. “Okay, okay, hold your horses,” he said, feathering the focus. As the view shifted from fuzz to sharp clarity, he counted six lanky forms trotting west, toward the setting sun. That tallied with what Flowers had said about the pack.

“Okay, I see them.” He lowered the binos. “So what?”

“They runaway.”

Run away?“I don’t understand.”

“They go wrongway.You no see that?”

“Well, yeah, I see them, but…”

The boy cut him off. “They going backhome. Why they do? Wolf come out night. Need eat. But they runback.”

“I—” he started then stopped.My God.Now that the boy had spelled it out, he realized Kazim was right. “You’re saying they’re runningfromsomething.”

“Yes, yes.” Although Kazim was anything but relieved. “Something make them run.”

Or someone.“Oh, no,” he said.

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