Things in A. did not turn out for the best. McAllen turned out to be softer than his file led us to believe. When I got him out of the Taliban prison, (no big deal, just a few bribes) he was already broken. He kept babbleing about how the '67 Ford Mustang his brother owned was the greatest of all cars. Sad. I took him to the transport and Carter promised me to get him to our connection in Pakistan safely. He should be back in Canada by now. Visit him and tell me how he's doing. It would be best if he could get back on his feet...
Wouldn't it? Sometimes I wonder.
It is good to be back in the desert. The emptiness is comforting. It isn't as oppressive as the jungle, where the sniper sits waiting, a mere five meters from your head, the sound of his excited breathing as he imagines your head exploding into a million pieces the only thing that gives him away. No, give me the desert. The howling of the wind at night reminds me of the demons that surround us even during the day...
LeForte managed to elude me with the help of some sympathetic villagers. I hanged twenty sympathizers in that village. Wailing women, old men hiding the faces of the children, forcing the teenager at gunpoint to put the noose around his neighbor's head. The Banality of Evil indeed. Where did it come from? What will it lead to?
I have no leads. I am in Qutar. Awaiting further orders.