“So why is Abdul in a chair?” she says, pacing. “Because Abdul knows where the real FOB is. Not the one with Hesco barriers and MREs. The other one. The one they don’t put on maps.”
Lily’s voice comes from behind the camera. Calm. Almost bored.
It doesn’t open with a key.
“This is Abdul. He’s not a Taliban. He’s not ISIS. He’s a fixer. He gets things across the border. Passports, weapons, people. Last month, he got a family of four out of Helmand. A good man, by local standards.”
Lily laughs. It’s the same laugh Miles remembers from childhood sleepovers, from the time she set off a stink bomb in the school gymnasium. Light. Musical. Wrong.
It was a warning.