Page 58 of Ford
Kissy-face?
Nice.
Ford had barely looked at her the rest of the night, finally settling into his bunk, his arms folded over his jacket, eyes closed. Ham had sat up, watching the world slide by out the window.
And she had stared at the ceiling, vowing not to let Ford harbor the idea that bringing her had been a colossally bad idea.
Now as the train headed toward the dawn, Ham rolled up the map and put it back into his backpack. “We’ll have to change trains in Warsaw and again in Kiev. Stay close, and hang on to your bags. Warsaw and Kiev train stations are both known for their pickpockets.”
A knock came at the door, and Ham unlocked it. It slid open, and a conductor stood there, pushing a cart with hot tea and coffee.
Scarlett climbed down as the woman gave them three coffees.
She had never tasted anything so glorious.
“We’ll grab something to eat in Warsaw,” Ham said, drinking his coffee black.
Outside, the dawn was giving way to light, a lining of rose gold upon the landscape of Poland. Beautiful country with rolling hills and pine trees and provincial farmhouses painted blue or orange, cattle lounging in the green pastures.
Ham set down his coffee on the skinny table jutting from the wall. “Whenever I’m in Poland, I can’t help but think about the fact that when Hitler invaded, the Poles fought him off with pitchforks and axes, mounted on horseback. Brave people, big hearts. Not unlike the Russians.”
“Isaac White said you worked in Russia,” Ford said.
“I was on Team Three,” he said. “We had some familiarity with Ukraine and a few neighboring countries. Partnered with the UN on a couple of operations.” He looked out the window. “Partnered with a few Russians, too, back when the cold wasn’t quite so chilly.”
“Is that where you picked up your Russian contact?” Scarlett asked.
Ham looked at her. Nodded.
“When did you ring off?”
“Three years ago. We had an op that went south, and it was time for me to step out.”
“I heard the story.” Ford poured himself another cup of water. “It’s legendary.”
Ham ran a thumb down the rim of his cup. Was quiet for a long time. Looked out the window when he finally spoke. “We did what we had to.”
Ford nodded, and silence pulsed between them.
Scarlett stared at Ham, and he glanced at her.
Finally, quietly, “We were in Afghanistan. It was late October, and the CIA got a tip about a Taliban stronghold in Kunar Province. They wanted to dig them out before winter set in, so we went in.”
He drew in a breath, swallowed. “We were ambushed. Bad intel. We took cover in some nearby caves, but we had two guys go down, and called in for reinforcements. They sent in PJs, but…two died fast-roping down to us, and then a chopper was hit with an RPG and…it all went south. A handful of PJs made it out and evaced with us through the tunnels, but there was a cave-in, and a couple PJs got separated. A guy named Thorne and my buddy Royal. We were eventually evaced out, but…”
He stared into his coffee.
“No man left behind,” Scarlett said quietly.
“We knew they were taken captive by the Taliban, and it just—it ate at us. The CIA wouldn’t give us sanction to rescue them, so me and another guy—Simon McCord—put together a team and we…we went in on our own.” He glanced again at Scarlett.
She stiffened.
“McCord was killed, along with another SEAL, but we got Royal and Thorne back.”
“But it was the end of your career,” Ford said.
He nodded. “Officially, the buck fell on Senior Chief McCord, so they let me separate, let me leave with an honorable discharge, but…it wasn’t voluntary.”