These day he couldn’t relax without having clear lines of sight to all exits in the room—and the only one in here was the narrow, rectangular doorway formed by an outline of rough mud bricks. Anwar was outside along with several of Gulab’s fighters. Qasim sat to Safir’s right, dividing his attention between the door and the meeting. “I have more men to fight the next battle,” the warlord said to him in Pashto as he sipped at his own tea. Behzad retreated to the far side of the room, a silent, stoic presence. Offering his home as a meeting place without getting involved in their business or expecting anything in return. Safir had decided he would hire the man to be his eyes and ears in this part of the tribal region in northwestern Pakistan. He could certainly use the money it would bring, and it would give him and his family some much needed security. Maybe even an easier life. Safir turned his attention to Gulab. “How many?” “Twenty-nine. Your latest videos have been very helpful so far.”
