Blue Warrior

“It stopped snowing. The sun is up. And there’s a pot of tea steeping. Pour us some, will you, while I finish these notes?”

“Sure.” Pearce padded over to the sink area. A pot sat on a hot plate, steam curling up from the spout. Two thick ceramic cups with Italian navy logos were next to the pot. He poured.

“How’s Daud?”

“His IV will finish in about thirty minutes, then he gets another one. I want to give him four more after that.”

“That’s a lot of fluid.” Pearce set a cup in front of Cella.

“But the latest protocols for sepsis call for it.” She picked it up and blew on it. Pearce tried to ignore the shape of her mouth when she did it.

“You must be exhausted. I know how to hang an IV bag. Go get some rack time,” Pearce offered.

“I’m fine for now. Maybe later. I must make my rounds in a few minutes. The others will wake up soon.”

“How many patients do you have now?” Pearce asked.

“Two women and two girls, next door. One late-term pregnancy, one anemia, and two bladder infections. On this side, Tariq is the old man over there, Ghaazi is the boy you met earlier, and you know Daud.”

“Where are they all from?” Pearce took a sip of tea.

“Some are from across the border, some from this side. All different villages. Tariq was the chief of his village years ago, wiped out by the Russians. He is the last survivor of his clan.”

“And the boy?”

“Ghaazi’s father is a talib who fled to the Tribal Areas.”

“You know Italy is at war with the Taliban, right?”

“My war is in here. The only enemy I fight is death and disease. What you idiots do out there is your business.”

“But you’re helping the enemy of your country.”

“I’m taking care of his child, who lost a foot to a mine planted by the Afghan army. I suppose you think it is my patriotic duty to let the boy die for the sins of his father?” Cella took another sip of tea.

“No. But the boy will probably grow up and become a killer like his father. Doesn’t that bother you?”

“I can’t know for sure if he will grow up to be a killer. He probably will. There is killing all around him. What else does he know? Right now, I know he needs my help. I also know that the mine that took his foot was probably American. A lot of American mines have killed a lot of innocent people around here. Doesn’t that bother you?”

“I hate it. But that’s war. The sooner it ends, the better.”

“And your job is to help end it, yes?”

“Yes.”

“And you enjoy this work? Killing the enemy?” Her blue eyes bored into his.

“No, but it’s necessary.”

“Necessary. Yes, of course. Then perhaps it is necessary for you to finish the job the mine began. Where is your gun? Or would you prefer to simply strangle the child while he sleeps?” A devilish smile creased her mouth. She took another sip of tea.

“I wish I had your moral clarity. It’s a luxury I can’t afford right now.”

“I think you are a good man, despite what you do.”

“You don’t know what I’ve done.”

“Stay here with me for a month. You will be surprised how clear things become when you start saving lives instead of taking them.”

Her words were fingers pulling on a string deep within him. He felt light-headed. Needed to change the subject. He pointed at the name stenciled on his chest. “This guy. Brother? Or husband?”

“Neither.” Her face soured. “Bodyguard. My father insisted.”

“Who just happened to have your same last name?”

“A legal fiction. It would be too scandalous for an unmarried man and woman to be living under the same roof here in this place. So Vittorio came as my fake husband. Passport, clothes, everything.”

“Where is he now?”

“Dead, a month ago.”

“How?”

“A local army commander named Marwat. Runs drugs and guns. They ambushed Vittorio. Thought he was Interpol.”

“Then you’re in danger, too.”

“No. I have lots of friends around here, remember? They kill me, they have a civil war on their hands.”

“That won’t save you.”

“It has so far.”

“And does your father know that Vittorio is dead?”

“No.”

“Because if you told him, he’d just send another, right?”

“Yes.”

Pearce rummaged around in his memory for a moment. “Paolini. Aerospace manufacturing. Helicopters, right?”

She sighed. “And other things.”

Pearce glanced around the clinic again. Very well stocked. “And he’s your ‘donor base.’”

“He makes money killing people, so it is only right that his money should save them, too.” She pulled off her glasses. “How would you like some food?”

“Very much, thank you. I’m starving.”

“Then make us something. There are some fresh eggs and bread in that refrigerator, and a pan in the bottom drawer. I must go next door and check on the women.”

Pearce’s mouth watered at the thought of fried eggs. “Sounds like a plan.” He headed for the refrigerator and pulled out a bowl of eggs. Started to relax.

Until the explosion.

21

Afghanistan — Pakistan border

7 January

Pearce grabbed his M4 and a parka before diving into the UAZ. The distant explosion he’d heard was in the direction of Daud’s village. Distant jet engines split the air like rolling thunder, and black smoke smudged the crystalline blue sky above the mountain.