Caravan of Thieves by David Rich Page A

Taliban posing as friendlies and the other half were thieves posing as honest. No one would believe my story on its face, but unless I gave provocation no one would question it too closely.
    I fought my way to the desk and presented my paperwork to Jaffar. He looked everything over, including me, and said, “You’re too late. All positions are filled.”
    “I was told to report today.”
    Jaffar repeated his mantra a few times. I got the letter back from him and the envelope. I left the building and went to a café, and in the bathroom I took out two hundred dollars and put it in the envelope. When I handed it to Jaffar, he just fingered it a little while he looked me over. Finally he glanced inside, just to make sure. He directed me to the staging area where I was to find the driver I would be riding with.
    Rashid was a twenty-four-year-old cocky know-it-all lounging near his truck with his friend Mansour, the guy who already had the job I thought I was getting. Mansour probably already paid Rashid for the chance. I had plenty to outbid him, but this was not a high-paying job and suspicion lurked just below the surface. Rashid dismissed me with an arrogant flick of his hand. I hesitated. Mansour got up and came toward me. He wasn’t a big guy, but I let him chase me away.
    The next day, before the caravan was scheduled to leave, I waited near Rashid’s truck, but out of sight. Mansour did not show up. Rashid got nervous, paced around, asked everyone if they had seen him, made a million phone calls. I knew Mansour would notbe there on time because he had been caught having sex with a prostitute in a park the night before. That kind of behavior is frowned upon in Karachi, so Mansour was locked up. The prostitute got away, with only the slightest help from me. I suppose Rashid figured his friend got cold feet. We never discussed it. I offered him one hundred dollars to take me on at the last minute and he accepted. I was in.

12.
    T he jeep had a compass. The wind was blowing Dan’s smoke east. I turned south. Phoenix was south of most places and that was where I thought I might try to start puzzling out Dan’s clues. The wind bombarding the open jeep felt like progress, though I wished for sunglasses against the glare and the dust. After a few miles, the U.S. Highway 95 sign told me nothing helpful except that I had never been there before. The gas tank was full and it occurred to me that I did not have to worry about that anyway. McColl was having me followed or watched somehow. A GPS in the jeep for sure, and some sort of backup. If I broke down beside the road, I’d be rescued. Far off on the right, mountains formed a wall up to the sky. On the left, the sky fell all the way down to the brown and gray rock. The road was straight as a rolled-out carpet. It was twenty miles before a car appeared traveling north. A few minutes later, a car came up fast behind me doing at least ninety. I caught a glimpse of a woman at the wheel of the blue Honda as it blew past me trailing blue smoke. I slowed down to letthe oily smell dissipate. Twenty minutes later, the Honda was pulled onto the shoulder, hood up. The woman stood beside the car.
    She wore shorts, tank top, and flip-flops. Her hair was cut in bangs and pulled back, which made her look younger than she was. I guessed thirty-five. Her skin was smooth and the thin glistening of sweat reminded me of how parched I was. If McColl sent her as bait, he made a shrewd choice. She held her cell phone in her hand and held her ground as I backed up.
    “Need help?”
    “Thanks. Called the tow truck. They’re on the way.”
    “I’ll take a look if you like. Maybe save you some money.”
    “No thanks,” she said, and she tensed and moved backward against the dusty door of her car.
    “What would you have done if I’d gone north?”
    “Look, you can go now. Leave me alone.”
    I asked, “You know how far it is to the next town?”
    “Fallon is about twenty miles that way.”