Page 184 of The Fourth Option
“What?”
“Your sense of humor, even in the most dire of conditions.”
“It’s a gift.”
“Because you are wondering and because you are not long for this world, I will tell you.”
“Tell me what?”
“Why I am standing in front of you, about to visit upon you more pain than you thought imaginable.”
“Anything that delays the inevitable.”
“We fought for you, for your country, and you abandoned the cause.”
“You deserved better.”
“You promised us you would get us out.”
“Of Afghanistan? You’re in America, slick.”
“I was supposed to meet my family and get to the planes at the airport in Kabul. By the time I got home, my wife and two children were dead.My wife was raped, tortured, and killed by the Taliban. I don’t know if they made my children watch before they were killed as well. Do you know why they were killed, Mr. Walker?”
“Because of your work for us.”
“Yes. Unlike my family, I made it out. I was relocated to Baton Rouge. I looked for work; a car wash, a 7-Eleven. I see my wife and children in my dreams. We live together, me and others waiting on special immigrant visas. The CIA has forgotten us.”
“I’m sorry. It’s not right.”
“I used to play Afghan chess with my son. Do you remember this game?”
“I do.”
“Then you recall what makes it an Afghan game.”
“No checkmate.”
“Bravo, Mr. Walker. I still play with some of the men in my flat, but it is not the same. It reminds me of my son and of the country I had to leave behind. The country we lost. Without a checkmate, one player must take all his opponent’s pieces to win. America should have studied this game before sending its sons and daughters to die.”
“What do you mean?”
“Attrition, Mr. Walker. The Brits, the Soviets, and now the Americans have learned that there is no checkmate in Afghanistan, there is only attrition, and when you lose enough pieces you will go home.”
“Sounds like you should have studied the game before you joined the Zero Units.”
The uppercut to Walker’s stomach almost caused him to vomit.
“Perhaps you are right. Now I work for a man who pays well. I can use what I learned from you.”
“It’s not the way, brother.”
“I am not your brother. I am trash, thrown away by your CIA.”
“I think we have more in common than you might think.”
“We might, but that is not my concern.”
Walker looked down at the big toe of his left foot and noted the wire tied to it. His eyes traveled up to his groin, to another wire constricting his genitals. Both wires led to the old hand crank telephone, which had been removed from the wall and was sitting on a small end table.
