“Yeah, I’ve felt protected since you first kidnapped me.”

“What are you getting so self-righteous about? Didn’t you come to Afghanistan to hunt me down like a dog? The only thing you can bitch about is being unprepared and underestimating us. I’d say that’s an intelligence thing.”

“Like tactical intelligence on my enemy or my own mental intelligence?”

He spun all the way in his padded desk chair so he was looking directly at me. “That’s a deep question, Mitchum. I could give you a flip answer, but I respect the question enough to think about it.” He was quiet for almost a full minute.

I spent the time really exploring the room and Jackson. I noticed we came through the side door. I now realized that if they parked in the carport, no one could see them walk up to the door on the side of the house. This was still the main entry room whether someone walked in through the front door or the side door.

They were trying to keep this place a complete secret. Despite Jackson’s assertion that nobody cared, obviously someone did. They didn’t want their little holding facility made public.

Jackson said, “Both.”

“What? Both what?”

“Your tactical intelligence was suspect and I think your common sense is poor. You’re easily goaded into things. I’d never want to work with you.”

“You’ll get your wish.”

I heard a car door slam. Jackson checked a security camera on a bank of monitors. Then the side door opened and a man stepped through the door. He was about Jackson’s age. Or in good enough shape that it was hard to tell exactly how old he was. He had short brown hair, cut like he’d been in the military. He wore a dark-blue Wayne State University Warriors T-shirt.

It took me a moment, but I recognized him. I just stared in shock as he walked through the office like he worked at a marketing firm. He looked in my direction, but didn’t acknowledge me.

I said out loud, “I remember you.”

The man said, “And I remember you, Mr. Mitchum.” He looked at Jackson and said, “Do we need to keep this guy alive? Nothing pisses me off more than seeing this turd.”

Jackson said, “Easier to keep him alive for now, Dave.”

I snapped my fingers. “David Allmand, that’s your name. You ran the prison in Marlboro.”

Allmand said, “Which is where I’d still be if you hadn’t stirred up all kinds of useless shit. Now I’m in Afghanistan. Thank you very much.”

Chapter 40

Chapter 40

Allmand pulled the rolling chair from his desk right next to my cage. He plopped down in the seat and leaned forward as if he was a priest ready to take my confession. He rested his elbows on his knees then looked up at me.

The only thing I could say was, “Why?”