Chapter Twelve
Friday, February 26, 1988
Sidgi, northern Pakistan
The Land Cruiser slowed as it came into Sidgi village. Johnson pulled his black turban back into position and straightened the shalwar kameez in which he was dressed. Since learning he would have to operate across the Afghanistan border, he had let his beard grow and had applied theatrical makeup to darken his skin. It had worked surprisingly well. He doubted he was going to convince any Afghan up close for more than a couple of seconds, but at a distance, he should be able to pass for a Pashtun.
Over to Johnson’s right, a lone camel padded along a small field, pulling a plough that was being steered by a farmer, who hobbled behind it, almost bent double. The field, and the one next to it, were the only visible patches o
