Tom Clancy's Ghost Recon: Combat Ops by David Michaels

been struck with the district governor and other elders, and they should be able to break ground within a week. Funding was finally in place.
    “This is the news I’ve been waiting to hear for eight months now,” said Harruck, his voice cracking. He glanced over at me and nodded.
    I didn’t hide my skepticism. “Dr. Anderson, I assume the Doctor is for Ph.D.?”
    “That’s right. My brother’s the medical doctor in our family. My degree is in agricultural economics and rural sociology. Call me Cassie.”
    “Well, Cassie, you’re a smart woman, and you under stand the political situation here.”
    “I’ve been working in this country for three years now. So, yes, I’m keenly aware of what’s happening. The ARO has made significant strides despite all the corrup tion.”
    “I understand, but you don’t see this as a terrific waste of resources?”
    “Excuse me?”
    “We’re going to provide all these services for the local community, but when we leave, the Taliban will move back in and destroy them, or exploit them, or hold them ransom. We should neutralize the enemy first, build a militia, then provide these people with an infrastructure only after they can protect themselves.”
    She looked at Harruck. “Your friend’s a bit of a cynic.”
    “His mission has become slightly different than mine, but I think we can all work together to make this happen.”
    I raised my voice, if only a little. “Simon, do you think by helping these people you’ll really build their trust? We’ll always be foreigners.”
    “I need to try. At least for the children.” I took a deep breath. “I have a mission.”
    “I understand. But would you be willing to talk to Keating? Maybe just buy us some time?”
    “That’s the one thing they’re telling me I don’t have.” “Will you at least try?”
    I shrugged, then turned to the door.
    “Scott, I respect your opinion, and I’m going to need your help. Let’s do this together.”
    I couldn’t answer, and I’m glad I didn’t. “Nice to meet you . . . Scott,” said Anderson. My grin was forced, and she knew it.

    I returned to quarters and sat around with the rest of my men, who were cleaning weapons. Hume and Nolan were busy dissecting the Cross-Coms for any more clues and had speculated that high-energy radio frequencies were probably to blame. I told them to keep working on it and shared with everyone what Harruck planned to do. “He’s just painting a bigger target on this town and pissing off the Taliban,” said Brown. “The local govern ment’s corrupt. That’s a given. So these people have come to trust the Taliban, who’ve kept their word. Now we’re supposed to get them to trust us more by giving them more stuff, and we’re supposed to think that once we’ve
    bought their trust, they’ll help us capture the Taliban.”
    “Exactly,” I said. “But what’s wrong with that pic ture?”
    Treehorn started laughing. “The Taliban ain’t going to let that happen.”
    “Harruck actually said we might have to work with them.”
    “Are you serious?” asked Ramirez, who set down a magazine and turned his frown on me.
    “See, Harruck knows that if we build the school and the rest of it, the Taliban will attack, so how do you get them off your back?”
    “You take out their leader, disrupt their communica tions, and demoralize them,” said Matt Beasley, who’d been very quiet the past few days. I could now hear the frustration in his tone.
    “That might work, Matt, and you can bet we’re going to try. But that’s not Harruck’s plan.”
    Ramirez made the money sign with his fingers. “Oh, yeah,” I said. “They’ll try to cut a deal.”
    “Well, then, what’re we supposed to do?” asked Ramirez. “Harruck’s offering a handshake while we’re putting guns to their heads.”
    “Look, he can’t do that openly,” I said. “Imagine the headline. Bottom line is the taxpayers need an enemy they can believe in—just as much as a