Sacrifice by Will Jordan Page B

to run the Shepherd teams. I guess shit rolls downhill, huh?’
    ‘Dan’s not a bad guy.’
    ‘He makes deals with bad people,’ Keegan reminded him. ‘Same thing in my book.’
    At this, McKnight frowned and glanced over at Drake. ‘Something I should know about?’
    ‘Long story with a not particularly happy ending,’ he evaded.
    This prompted an amused smile. ‘We’ve all been there.’
    McKnight turned off the main road shortly after clearing the base’s outer security perimeter, and wasted no time putting her foot down. Soon they were careening at breakneck speed down a dusty, cracked, barely paved road that snaked through the network of small villages clustered around Bagram.
    The woman drove like a lunatic, churning through the gears, keeping the engine revs high and flooring it around corners, leaving clouds of dust and burned rubber in their wake.
    Leaning forward, Keegan tapped her on the shoulder.
    ‘You got yourself a death wish, Sam?’ he asked, having to brace himself against the seat as they bounced through a pothole. The suspension groaned under the strain.
    ‘Standard precaution,’ McKnight called over her shoulder. ‘We move fast so the Taliban don’t have time to set up IEDs on the road ahead.’
    IED stood for Improvised Explosive Device – basically anything the insurgents could slap together that would go boom and put chunks of metal in Coalition soldiers. They could be anything from coffee cans filled with plastic explosive and nuts and bolts, to 105mm artillery shells buried underground.
    ‘That’s them, over there,’ she added, nodding casually towards a group of men standing on the second-floor balcony of a dilapidated-looking house off to their left, perhaps 50 yards distant. There were three or four of them, all sporting long beards and civilian clothes, just standing there watching the vehicle speed by.
    ‘That’s who?’
    ‘The Taliban,’ McKnight explained, perfectly nonchalant.
    ‘You’re fucking kidding me.’
    She shrugged. ‘They’re spotters, reporting our movements. One of their buddies in the back is probably calling his superiors right now. We know they’re Taliban, and they know that we know, but they also know we won’t detain them without evidence,’ she said, giving Drake a significant look. ‘So, we watch them, and they watch us, and most of the time that’s all that happens. It’s just the way things are out here.’
    As if on cue, they passed a couple of burned-out vehicles abandoned by the side of the road, their blackened chassis so twisted and warped by the extreme heat that it was impossible to tell what they had once been.
    Keegan leaned back in his seat and stared at them, saying nothing.
    Unknown to the three occupants of the Explorer, another pair of eyes was watching them through a high-powered telescopic lens. The single observer was protected from the intense sun, and any aircraft that might be circling overhead, by camouflage netting strung over the low depression in which he was crouched. Flies buzzed around him, and the oppressive heat caused droplets of sweat to form at his brow, but he didn’t care. He was used to such things.
    Situated on a low hill about half a mile north of the road, the man who had become known as Kourash Anwari watched as the big vehicle bounced and jolted across the uneven surface. Even through the haze of dust, he was able to make out the driver and passengers.
    Two men and a woman, all dressed in civilian clothes.He didn’t recognise the other two, but the man in the passenger seat up front was very familiar to him. His was a face that Kourash would never forget as long as he lived. After all, how could one forget the man who had cost him everything he’d ever cared about?
    Ryan Drake.
    It had taken no small amount of time and effort to learn what had become of the man who ruined his life, who took everything from him in a single day. But patience was a virtue he had learned a long time ago.
    Half a