Nolan noticed the hesitation. "Come on, Lieutenant. No guts, no glory."

"Just thinking about my men, Mr. Nolan," Evan covered.

"Hey. If they get to the gate before we're done, have 'em pull over and we'll meet ' em there. But at this rate they won't even be there by the time we're through. And I'd like to make it back to BIAP before dark."

Their Humvee moved forward about six feet and stopped again.

"Either way," Nolan said, "I'm going. You with me?"

"Sure." Evan leaned inside the passenger window and told Marshawn what he was doing.

"I don't like being out of contact," his driver replied.

"I don't either, Marsh. This is all new to me too." He indicated their passenger with a toss of his chin. "But he's going. And things here look pretty calm."

"Yeah," Marshawn said, "the 'before' shot."

They both knew that he meant "before the bomb exploded in the crowded marketplace."

"Let's hope not," Evan said. "And the sooner we get done and leave Baghdad, the sooner we're back home."

"I'm not arguing, sir. If you got to go, you got to go. But what if you're not at the gate? What are we supposed to do? Where will you be?"

For an answer, Evan shrugged and held up his portable Motorola radio, which was good for about a mile. Nolan, who'd heard the exchange, leaned back to Marshawn. "Budget office, down in the basement of the headquarters building. You can't miss it. But a hundred bucks says we beat you back to the gate."

The traffic gave and Marshawn crept forward another five or six feet before stopping again. The line of cars stretched for at least a quarter mile in front of him. "That's a bad bet for me, sir," he said, "even if I had the hundred bucks."

"I think so, too, Sergeant. That's why we're walking." Nolan snapped his fingers, remembering something, and reopened his back door. Reaching in, he emerged a second later with his backpack, apparently empty. "Can't forget this," he said with another grin, and strapped it onto his back, over the Kevlar vest.