Part 60 (1/2)
The woman-if it was a woman-laughed her ugly laugh.
”You know,” she said.The tips of fingernails caressed the edge of his throat, running along the line of his throbbing artery.”You know what you've lost.”
”No.”
”Yes.You know what has been taken, and you want it back.”
”No.”
”It's a gift,” she said. ”You are the enemy of my enemy, but you are not my friend.”
”We didn't do anything to you.We didn't hurt you or-”
”You are in our town. Men like you have been coming to our towns-here and elsewhere-to take what is ours. Our sacred relics.The images of us that people-a precious, precious few-still wors.h.i.+p.”
”Relics? Who cares about relics, for Christ's sake? We're trying to stop terrorists from killing innocent people. Your people, too. My team . . . we came to protect everyone and everything from the Taliban.We don't want to take anything.”
A subtle touch of fingernails on his cheek.
”Everyone wants to take something.”
”No.”
”Everyone wants something. Everyone wants to barter and trade.”
”All I want are my men, d.a.m.n it.That's why we came here. Please . . . believe me.That's the only reason we came to this G.o.dd.a.m.n place.”
”This is our home. No one comes here unless they want to make a deal. To get back what has been lost.”
”Get back . . . ?” His voice trailed off.
”Yes,” she said,”I can smell your desire.You do want to make a deal.You want what I have.”
”Then give them back!” he shouted.