“Sure, they’ll occasionally hack off a head or three. But this was different. It was every man in the village. And it looks like they didn’t try to defend themselves. Not at all.”
His irritated expression faded a bit as he pondered that scenario. “How many?”
“Seventy give or take.”
“Did you bring me one?”
“A head? No. It looks like they carted them away.”
“So this wasn’t some kind of ceremonial mass execution. They actually wanted the heads.”
“Seems like it, but I don’t know why. Maybe they’re working on a jihadist promotional video. But something about this feels wrong to me.”
“Well, it was obviously incredibly important to them.”
“Why do you say that?”
“Because they planned ahead. The spine was sawed through first before they finished the job with a serrated knife. And heads aren’t light. Seventy of them would be upward of six hundred pounds.”
“How long to saw off a head? Hanging around after doing something like this would be risky.”
“Hard to say exactly.”
“Is there a body around here that no one’s using? And a saw?”
“No, Randi. Besides, we’re not talking very long. This wasn’t a handsaw. The chipping suggests a powered circular saw.”
Randi looked down at the mutilated body and tried to work through what she was being told. “Look, I’m pretty sure I know who’s responsible for this—there’s a neighboring Taliban village that the people of Sarabat have been going at it with probably since before Jesus. But it’s hard to imagine them stopping by the local Sears and buying a battery-powered saw. Last I heard, they didn’t even have the electricity to charge it.”
“Who knows why people do the things they do,” Mailen said with a shrug. “It’s a crazy world.”
“That’s not helpful. Why this? And why now? After a couple thousand years of back-and-forth, the Taliban just roll in with no special weapons and kill everyone without taking a single casualty?”
“Who cares? Pretty soon Afghanistan’s just going to be a bad memory and a few yellowing pages in a history book.”
“I need to know, Pete.”
“That’s easy to say. But how exactly are you going to find out?”
“I figure I’ll go ask them.”
“Them? You mean the Taliban? I’m not sure they’ll be all that happy to see you.”
“Maybe not. But this is the kind of thing that keeps me up at night.”
Mailen threw the sheet back over the body and began pulling off his apron. “As your doctor, I’d advise you to buy one of those Dresner units instead. I hear they make you sleep like a baby.”
8
Prince George’s County, Maryland
USA
LIEUTENANT COLONEL JON SMITH pressed the accelerator to the floor, but didn’t get much of a reaction from his ’68 Triumph. He’d given a lot of time and love to its restoration, but his mechanical skills had never quite lived up to his enthusiasm. The passenger door still had an annoying tendency to fly open when he turned left and the hesitation in the motor seemed to be getting worse now that fall temperatures were descending on the area. Time to swallow a little pride, step away from the tools, and take it to a shop.