Taking Fire

“Yeah, she’s really protected.” Addy twisted her lips in thought. “Okay, we think we have the correct name on this operator. We have Marine Force Recon snipers all over Afghanistan. They’re small in number, like our SEAL snipers, out there operating alone for weeks or months at a time, tagging the bad guys and usually going after high value targets.” She tapped her chin. “Let’s see if they’ll let me into the whereabouts of marine snipers along the border.”

Mike saw a map pop up, the same one Mac had accessed earlier. This time, the intel officer typed in Shinwari, K. The box “Access Denied” appeared.

Mouth thinning, Mike stared at the screen.

“You said she was a medic of some sort?” Addy asked.

“Yes, she is. She said she was a paramedic. But it could be a lie to throw me off her trail, too.”

“Maybe an Army 18 Delta combat corpsman,” she said, “but I’m not aware they’re allowing women to take that eighteen-month course.” She went to the army website and to the 18 Delta area. Typing in the name, nothing came up. Dead end. “Okay, let’s take another angle on this, Tarik. You said you saw scars on her back, right?”

“Yes.”

“How old do you think they were?”

He shrugged. “Hell, I don’t know. The scars are white, not pink. Pink would denote they happened in the past year or so.”

“Okay, so let’s play ‘what if,’ here. What if she was here in Afghanistan? A covert asset? Posing as someone else? She got caught by the bad guys? Tortured? And she survived it. But if that was so, she’d have been taken here, to Bagram hospital for treatment. Right? Or, if bad enough, sent to Landstuhl Medical Center in Germany.”

Mike shrugged. “Your guess is as good as mine. She could have been whipped because the scars were long and deep across her back.” He didn’t tell the intel officer he’d seen Khat naked. He wanted to protect her, not expose her to the world in that way. Or maybe he was just plain damned protective of her.

“Okay, off to Bagram’s database on patients.” She typed in the name. Her brows lifted. “Ah, a hit!” She traced her finger across the screen.

Mike leaned forward, his eyes narrowing. There, five years ago, was a Shinwari, K., admitted to the hospital.

“Let’s pull up her medical record.”

He cursed softly. The box “Access Denied” glared back at them.

“She is deeper than deep,” Sinclaire muttered, frowning and studying the screen.

Mike twisted a look up at the officer. “What does that mean to you, then?”

“That she’s working a special black ops. Probably straight out of the E ring of the Pentagon. She’s a ‘need to know basis’ only. In other words, Tarik, if you didn’t directly work with her, you’d never know she existed.” She shrugged. “You just got lucky and intersected with her. Right time, right place. But you’re like two ships passing in the night, and one doesn’t overlap with the other insofar as information goes.” She tapped the screen. “They’re really protecting her.”

Rubbing his chin, he muttered, “Okay, so let’s take it another direction. On the second night when she rode in, she had a packhorse with medical supplies. I saw them, and they’re all from the US. She was dressed in male Afghan clothes. She was wearing a blue-and-white-checked shemagh around her neck and shoulders. She’d gone somewhere. Where? And I know she’s a medic of some sort. If she’s got supplies with her, then she’s got to be going into a village. Giving people medical aid, maybe?”

“Yup, good lead. That blue-and-white shemagh she was wearing is indicative of the Shinwari tribe. Every tribe has different colors. Maybe she’s connected with an NGO? Nongovernmental organization? A charity that’s working here in this country?” Addison brought up the list of NGOs and then typed the name into the database of people associated with each charity.

“Zip,” Mike muttered.

“Yep. But we’re not done. If she’s giving medical aid to Shinwari villages, then there has to be a record of it somewhere. She’s using US supplies, and those are tracked. You said she gave you morphine, right? For your broken arm?”