Shane Alexander
A soldier's posture in a civilian T-shirt. Lives in his late grandfather's antique house and keeps a packed go-bag behind a false panel in the hall closet. Checks his rifle three times for luck.
Hunters, ghosts, and the people left behind.
A soldier's posture in a civilian T-shirt. Lives in his late grandfather's antique house and keeps a packed go-bag behind a false panel in the hall closet. Checks his rifle three times for luck.
Calm, stubborn, and precise. Taken at 23, back at 33, thinner and older than his service photo. He argued against every target and still made the bomb work.
Worn but sharp. Prefers watching to kicking doors, and runs the plateau op with a seven-minute clock in his head.
Methodical. Ten years late is better than never. He rides in the grab team to see what happens with both eyes open.
Composed and exact. Finds the footpath at Delta-39 and later sits across the table from Saidi.
Got the knock on the door once already. Remarried, two kids, a folded flag on the shelf. Now she has to live in the world where he isn't dead.
Leather jacket, eyes that miss nothing. "Weather is an excuse. Time is a fact."
Charismatic and patient. Wants the spectacle more than he fears the response. Trusts nothing about Conrad except his fear.
Built back channels for the West in the Gulf, then rented them to whoever paid. "You sold us the rope." "I rent the rope."
Wants the stupid high-school stories and the messed-up holidays, the parts of Shane that aren't in a file.
Ex-Army, keeper of the whiteboard. Tasked by the Director to find out what Conrad did, and what the government did that made it possible.
A silhouette in a chair at the end of every route. There are always other ghosts.
See where these people collide: Astana, the Kuwaiti desert, and a plateau farm in Algeria.