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that could be done bare-handed. The fact that only two are dead is not by chance. Three seconds later, you’re interrogating a prisoner.” She leaned forward, staring with too-close eyes. “You don’t remember training. You don’t remember a fight in a parking lot. The two may be connected. It may not be the first time this has happened. You see? Let’s find out together, shall we?”
    She slapped the pad with her pen and leaned back. “Or, you could possibly have past brain trauma. I’m going to ask your doctor to order an MRI. Either way, next visit I do want your wife in here with you.”
    She smiled again, the devil back in her eyes. “By their wives, ye shall know them.”

Chapter 3
    Crawler
    Seven years earlier
    Â 
    M ajor Jim Mayard leaned away from the passenger-side window. Tires on the narrow Afghan dirt road blew fine dust over the entire convoy trailing behind them. Calling it a road was an exaggeration. By most standards it was a dilapidated mountain trail. His sight followed it as they rounded a corner. He needed to stay sharp, though his last sleep had been two days ago, and stimulants were a last resort. He checked his watch. Only been riding an hour. Still six, maybe seven hours till Bagram Air Base. He spread open a jagged tear in the knee of his trousers, inspecting a dirt-encrusted scab the size of a quarter.
    Sergeant Crawler yanked the Humvee’s steering wheel, narrowly missing an orange rock outcrop. Three-day stubble dotted the driver’s tanned leather cheeks, splotchy from sunburn. His frame looked like that of a linebacker, retired a few years ago. Jim rubbed his own beard, itchy in the heat. It had been two weeks since his last shave.
    The gunner squatted below the turret. “I swear I’ll haunt you if you kill me on this mountain.” Sweat dripped off his chin, wetting his kneepads. Goggles were fogging up. Jim leaned back toward the window, trying to find relief from the locker-room stench.
    â€œHow long I been driving ya?” Crawler asked with a Brooklyn accent. The gunner said nothing. “This is your second deploy here. Been with me for the both. All that time, I ever run you into anything?”
    â€œDo fence posts and guard shacks count?”
    Crawler huffed. “The post only took off the mirror and the guard shack was shooting at us.” He wiggled upright in the ripped tan seat and rubbed his sweat-stained lower back.
    â€œWhatever. Keep your damn eyes on the road. You wreck anything else and they won’t let your crazy ass drive. Not even out here.”
    The two had been jabbing at each other like a couple of sisters ever since Jim had sat down. Had they been doing this all the way out? He could put an end to their bickering, but they wouldn’t care. What was he going to do? The pair were already in Afghanistan, driving convoys. Even Hell looked like a promotion. Jim and his team were cargo and at the end of the day they’d be delivered.
    Crawler turned, facing the gunner. He draped one hand over the wheel and removed an unlit cigar with the other. He steered without looking at the trail, as if he knew it all too well. His eyes were focused on the reflection in the gunner’s goggles. Jim thought he’d let him have his fun.
    â€œWhat you think of them Yankees?” Crawler asked.
    â€œI don’t give a shit. Look at the road,” the gunner said.
    â€œYou see the game they had against the Orioles?” He turned the wheel and circumvented a VW-sized boulder outside Jim’s window.
    â€œThe road, Crawler. The road.”
    â€œNine to one. Almost a shutout.”
    â€œI don’t care what the hell they did. Watch the damn road!”
    Crawler smirked, then turned forward again, winking at Jim as he jammed the cigar back between his teeth.
    Around the next turn the trail narrowed, running laterally across a steep ridge. On Jim’s side rose a sharp hill and to the