“Thanks,” said Michelle, without looking at him.
They drove to Michelle’s apartment, where Sean had left his car, a Lexus convertible hardtop. In the covered garage they climbed out of the truck. Sean passed the keys over to her.
“You going to be okay tonight?” he asked.
“A soak in the tub and I’ll be fine. You should ice your knees.”
“Sucks getting old.”
“You’re not old.”
“But I’m getting close.” He fiddled with his own keys. “Even though it’s cold you should go sculling tomorrow on the Potomac. That always makes you feel better.”
“Sean, stop worrying. I’m not going nuts again.”
“You never went nuts,” he said emphatically.
“But I got close,” she replied, paraphrasing his earlier statement.
“You want some company tonight?” he asked, giving her a sideways glance.
“Not tonight. But thanks for the offer.”
“I’m sure this Tyler Wingo thing is nothing.”
“You’re probably right.”
“But we’ll take the gun back and see what we see.”
“Thanks for humoring me.”
“I’m not humoring you. I’m being diplomatic.”
“Then thanks for being diplomatic.”
She walked toward the elevator that would take her up into the building.
Sean watched her until she was safely inside the elevator car. He needn’t have bothered. He had watched her take out five guys at the same time without breaking much of a sweat.
Still, he watched her. Still, he worried about her. He guessed that’s what being a partner was all about.
He walked to his car, climbed in, and drove off, at a slow, safe speed.
CHAPTER
6
SAM WINGO STARED DOWN AT THE MAP.
First, he’d lost his cargo and nearly his life. Second, the pickup truck he’d taken had run out of fuel halfway across Afghanistan, not where one would want to come up empty on petrol.
His options from that point had been limited. To the north were three of the Stan countries, to the west was Iran, and to the east and south was Pakistan. Not a clear winner among them as an escape route. Being an American in one of the Stans was probably preferable to being an American in Iran or even Pakistan. But Wingo knew where he eventually wanted to get to: India. Yet going through one of the Stans and hooking around to India through China was not going to cut it for him. It was just too far.
After he’d run out of fuel he had waylaid a man with a spare camel. He’d paid him far more in local currency than he had probably ever seen. Then Wingo had ridden the beast over some of the roughest terrain in the country, with the sun beating down on him, turning any bit of exposed skin red and dry.
He arrived on the outskirts of Kabul in the morning hours. He finally had cell reception. He had turned off his phone on the trip to conserve his battery. The camel did not come equipped with a 110V outlet.
He phoned his superior, Colonel Leon South.