Chapter Eighteen

 

 

“Did they get your message?” Jaliya demanded of Taggart as she ran with him toward the waiting helicopter. They were heading to the FOB where FAST Bravo and their NIU counterparts had launched from, trying to get a handle on what was happening out there so they could do something to help. But communications with the team had been spotty at best ever since the firefight broke out. “Do they know about Nasar?”

“Yeah. But both Apaches had to return to base due to damage. My guys are out there on their own, and they’re low on ammo. And we need to get them the hell out of there now,” he growled.

Her insides clenched into a hard knot of fear. “How far away is their exfil point?”

“Half a mile. But in that terrain and with an enemy force blocking their way, it might as well be fifty.”

Helplessness tightened her throat. Please God, let them make it out of there. Let Zaid be safe.

She glanced over her shoulder. David was a few strides behind her, along with furious Afghan army officials who were bent on capturing Nasar and punishing him for his treachery. Jaliya wanted to see the bastard locked away too, but even more than that she just wanted Zaid and his teammates to make it back unharmed to the FOB.

Taggart was on his radio again, trying to coordinate more air support for them. He shot her a hard look as they neared the waiting Blackhawk. “How did we miss this?” he demanded.

She felt sick to her stomach. The answer had been there, right in front of their faces the entire time. “He was smarter than all of us.” She swallowed past the restriction in her throat, thinking of Zaid trapped out there in the mountains. “How long until we get to the FOB?”

“Thirty minutes at least after takeoff. In the meantime, you listen to every word those guys say,” he said, gesturing to the Afghan army officials, “and tell me anything that might be useful.”

The only reason he was letting her come along at all was for her translating skills. “Of course.”

Hold on, Zaid. Help is on the way.

She needed to see him for herself as soon as possible, and that meant being at the FOB when they landed instead of waiting back here at Bagram for word.

 

****

 

From his position on the ridge, Fahim stared down at the members of FAST Bravo with utter loathing. The RPG detonation had slowed them down, but all nine of them were still alive.

His heart had seized up when the circling Apaches had unleashed a stream of fire that obliterated half of his surviving men and all three remaining trucks. He’d watched, helpless, as everything he’d worked for, everything he needed, went up in smoke. With only one of the trucks having made it safely across the border some hours ago, it was likely he’d just lost his only chance of getting the remainder of the money necessary to secure Beena a new heart.

He’d just failed his son. And now Beena would die because of it.

Rage and anguish poured through him. He refused to accept that outcome. Would never accept it.

His heart pounded out of control as he stood there, madly trying to come up with a plan that would allow him to escape. His dirty secret was out. Every intelligence agency operating in the country would be hunting him now, and likely on the Pakistani side as well.

“Sir, what are your orders?” one of his men asked beside him.

He had only twenty or so of his trusted troops left. All the others were either dead or on the run. The ones remaining were loyal to him to a point, but with their promised money for their services smoldering on the road in the valley below, they could turn on or abandon him at any moment. Right now they needed him because they were depending on him to get them to safety.

If he was going to escape, he had to do it now. Dying wouldn’t help his son—he needed to get away and regroup. Find somewhere to hole up and evade the masses of agencies hunting him, and find another way to come up with the remainder of the money he owed El Escorpion. Perhaps he could get across the border into Tajikistan and hide there.

Out here there was only one place that was safe for him now.

“To the cave. Hurry!” he ordered, then spun around and took off running. The ancient tunnel complex entrance was three-quarters of a kilometer away. It would give him concealment, maybe even a chance to lose FAST Bravo and buy enough time to organize a new extraction site deeper in the mountains.

Out of the corner of his eye he glimpsed several groups of his men veer away from him, running in the opposite direction. He didn’t bother shooting or trying to stop them. It was actually better if some deserted now; a smaller group was easier to escape with, and he had to conserve his ammo.

He leaped over a cluster of boulders and slid down the far side of the ridge, ignoring the shouted command to stop behind him. The soles of his boots thudded against the earth as he jumped and hit the bottom of the rise.

He grunted at the force of the impact, pitched forward and caught himself on his hands and knees. He knew this terrain well. Knew exactly what route he could take to the cave that would provide maximum concealment. His pilot would be on station somewhere nearby but out of sight. If he could put enough distance between him and FAST Bravo, he could stop to set up an extraction.

He didn’t pause to check how many men were still with him, because he didn’t care. At a spire of granite that marked the edge of an ancient trail, Fahim turned left and ran up the steep slope, following the old switchbacks worn into the hillside by countless feet and goats’ hooves.

Risking a glance behind him, he noticed that only a handful of his men were following now. Shots rang out behind him in the distance, FAST Bravo keeping up the chase.

Fahim tore up the remainder of the hill as fast as he could, then made a sharp right into a gulley and followed it to a craggy outcropping of rock that marked the entrance to the tunnels. He kept pushing his body harder, the thin, cold mountain air sawing in and out of his lungs as he calculated which tunnel to take.

The second one led to a narrow mountain trail. It would be hard for anyone to follow him once he reached it. He darted inside the opening, hunching to avoid the low ceilings, and squeezed his way into the narrow rock tunnel.

Rock debris littered the ground, but he soon lost the ability to see as blackness squeezed out the tiny amount of light coming through the entrance. There was no going back, so he pushed onward, using his hands to feel his way along because he couldn’t risk using a flashlight and give away his position.

Muffled voices from the entrance sent an icy cold splinter of fear through him. He moved as fast as he could through the darkness, ignoring the bruises and cuts he sustained from the rough rock walls he scraped against, slipping over the loose rock on the ground.

The tunnel seemed to go on forever, twisting and snaking its way through the mountain. It narrowed even further ahead, and for a moment he feared he was trapped in this subterranean warren. Then it widened once more, and a few minutes later the air turned cool and crisp. The exit was somewhere close by, just out of sight.

Behind him, something scuffed along the tunnel, the eerie echo of footsteps disturbing the loose rock on the ground sending a shiver up his spine. Then the tunnel behind him lit up with the faint glow of a distant flashlight beam.

Whoever it was had the advantage of sight, and was getting closer with each second.

Fahim pushed himself to go faster, turned left with the tunnel, then it began to rise toward the surface. Moments later he glimpsed a slight brightening ahead in the darkness. The dry, dusty scent of the tunnel gave way to fresh, cold air. Freedom lay just ahead.

Almost there.

All he had to do was make it through to the other side, contact his pilot, and get to the new rendezvous point. He drew his sidearm, ready to fire at anyone waiting for him on the other side. His heart slammed harder against his ribs, hope giving him an added rush of speed as he burst free of the confining rock walls and out into the open.

Only to find himself on the sheer edge of a cliff that plunged hundreds of feet into the darkness below.

He gasped and instinctively flattened his back against the cool, jagged rock that had protected him up until a moment ago and now threatened to send him to his death. He’d forgotten how sheer the cliff edge was.

Frantic to escape, he darted a glance left then right, searching for a place to run to. But the trail here was dangerously narrow and he could barely make out the shape of the terrain in the darkness. One wrong step and he would plunge into the yawning abyss below.

He had no choice except to go forward, however. He couldn’t stay here another moment.

With grim determination he turned left and started up the trail, setting one hand against the side of the mountain and leaning his weight into it. Wind gusted around him, tugging at his uniform with cold fingers, as if trying to pluck him into the gorge below.

His boots slipped on some loose shale. Terror ripped through him as he slid precariously toward the edge of the trail. He dropped his pistol and gripped at a piece of rock jutting out from the wall of granite and clung, straining with all his might to pull his body upright. Just as he gained his footing once more, movement from behind him made his heart seem to stop beating.

“Stop and put your hands up!”

At the sharp, Dari command he whipped his head around to look behind him, his heart thudding in his ears. Squinting in the darkness, he focused on the man standing at the tunnel exit.

A FAST Bravo member.

Khan.

The man stood there alone, his weapon pointed dead center mass at Fahim’s chest, poised and ready to fire. Fahim’s fingers twitched, itching to snatch his pistol from the ground. The tactical vest he wore might save him from a body shot, but not from a bullet to the head. Khan was an expert shooter, and well within range to make the shot an easy one.

As the spurt of panic faded, steely determination took its place. Slowly, he turned to face Khan, the hair on his nape standing on end. You will not take me.

Everything crystalized in his mind. It had all come down to this moment. Fahim had fought too hard to have everything taken away from him. He would kill this damned American, escape, and live to see his family again.

 

****

 

Zaid struggled to get his breathing under control after the steep climb through the last bit of the tunnel and held his ground as he faced off with The Jackal. General fucking Nasar, a man they’d trusted and had now betrayed them, putting their lives in peril.

He didn’t dare break his concentration even to contact his teammates to alert them that he’d found Nasar. They were all busy checking out the other tunnels, except Granger, who was only a minute or so behind Zaid.

Nasar stood there on the ledge for a few heartbeats, staring at him from thirty yards away. Frozen. His hand hovered near the ground where a fallen pistol lay.

Zaid aimed dead center at Nasar’s chest, his finger on the trigger. Dammit, it was hard to see without his NVGs, but he could clearly make out Nasar’s outline.

Go ahead, asshole. Give me the excuse I need to put a bullet between your eyes.

His grip was solid on his weapon, his prey trapped on the precipice above the sheer cliff that dropped away on one side. The wind gusted around him, rising up from the canyon below. Taking Nasar out would be easy from this distance, but that’s not what the agency wanted. They wanted to bring him in alive so they could grill him about every last smuggling operation he had ever been involved with, and everyone who had worked with him.

The bastard still hadn’t complied with Zaid’s first order. “Put your hands up,” he shouted, still using Dari, his voice ringing off the wall of granite beside him.

Nasar didn’t budge. Zaid took a step toward him, conscious of the sheer drop-off to his right. The bastard knew they wanted to take him in alive. Did he really think they wouldn’t shoot him if necessary?

He kept careful watch of Nasar’s hands and took another menacing step forward. Nasar edged backward. “Stop,” Zaid commanded, his patience at an end. “One more step and I pull the trigger.”

No sooner had the words left his mouth than he heard rushed footsteps behind him at the mouth of the cave. “Whoa, shit!”

Zaid whipped around in time to see Granger spot the cliff too late and hit the brakes, his boots sliding over the gravel. Zaid’s heart lurched as his teammate skidded toward the edge of the cliff.

Forgetting Nasar, he wheeled around, slinging his weapon across his back. The blast of a gunshot rang out behind him as he took a few running strides and launched himself at Granger. More shots cracked through the darkness in rapid succession, ricocheting off the rock next to him.

Zaid hit Granger in the side in a flying tackle, stopping his momentum toward the cliff’s edge. Both of them grunted as they hit the ground, Zaid on top, and skidded into the wall of rock with a bone-jarring thud.

“Fuck,” Granger breathed, scrambling up as Zaid rolled off him.

Zaid had barely gotten to his hands and knees when three more rounds peppered the rock beside his head.

Nasar, trying to pick them off with his pistol.

Son of a…

“I got him,” Granger said, settling on one knee as he took aim, his NVGs in place.

Zaid reached back for his own weapon and swiveled to face Nasar, who appeared to be edging his way up the goat trail, his pistol in hand.

Nuh-uh.

“Tag him,” Zaid growled.

Granger fired. A roar of pain split the air. Nasar fell to one knee and braced himself against the mountain to keep from pitching over the edge.

“Drop your weapon!” Zaid yelled, beyond pissed off.

“He lost it,” Granger said from behind him.

Zaid set his jaw as he stared hard at Nasar. You’re mine, asshole. “Stay where you are,” he commanded, and began creeping his way forward once more.

Granger hit Nasar with the high-powered beam from his tactical flashlight, lighting him up like he was in a spotlight. Nasar turned his head away and threw up a hand to shield his eyes. Blood dripped from it.

Hope that hurts, you son of a bitch.

“Where’d you hit him?” Zaid asked, transitioning into medic mode. Whatever hole Granger had put in him, Zaid would have to plug before they transported him out of here and back to base.

“Lower leg,” Granger answered, staring down the barrel of his weapon at Nasar.

Too bad it wasn’t his ass.

Zaid slung his rifle across his back and drew his sidearm before picking his way toward their target, now bleeding and trapped on the cliff’s edge. “Come this way,” he ordered gruffly. Man, he wanted to plow his fist into Nasar’s face when he reached the bastard.

Granger was moving in behind him, staying close to provide backup if necessary, the brilliant beam from his flashlight cutting through the darkness like a laser. Nasar didn’t move, still crouched against the rock, just stared back at them with utter loathing as his blood pooled into the dirt.

Zaid set his jaw. They were going to have to go grab Nasar and drag him back to the cave. The idea of a wrestling match on such a narrow ledge didn’t thrill him, even with Granger here to back him up. He’d rather put another bullet in Nasar in a more vital place and haul his unconscious ass back to the cave to await the others.

“Target acquired,” Granger said behind him over the comms, alerting the others, and gave their position.

“Copy that. Moving to you now, ETA whenever the fuck we get out of this tunnel,” Hamilton replied through Zaid’s earpiece.

Even though Nasar was wounded and unmoving, Zaid approached him with the utmost caution. The guy had been trained by U.S. SOF guys and knew all the same dirty tricks Zaid did. Zaid wasn’t taking any risks up here.

“Put your hands behind your back,” he bit out, pistol trained on his quarry. He was still using Dari because it felt more personal that way. This was between him and Nasar.

Nasar glared up at him for a moment longer, then let go of his wounded leg and slowly moved his hands behind him.

Zaid reached into a pouch on his vest for a pair of flex cuffs. “Stay right there. You move so much as an inch, and I’ll put more holes in you.”

Even while squinting in the intense beam of the flashlight, Nasar’s expression managed to convey utter loathing and defiance. But Zaid didn’t care, his attention riveted to Nasar’s hands and body. The prisoner reluctantly brought both hands behind his back and waited there, but the tension in his body set off all kinds of warning bells in Zaid’s head.

He edged closer to Nasar, closer, until only a few feet separated them. Granger was right behind him, now using the tac light on the end of his weapon instead of the flashlight. Zaid angled his body toward the wall of rock and crouched down in front of Nasar.

“Turn around and give me your hands,” he ground out, his entire body wound tight and ready to spring if Nasar tried anything.

The man shot him one more lethal glare before turning slightly, his hands resting at the base of his spine. Zaid shifted his weight and roughly grabbed hold of the prisoner’s wrists. He had the cuffs on in seconds, and pulled tight.

A measure of relief hit him. He holstered his pistol and sat back on his haunches to grab his dressing kit, prepared to bind Nasar’s wound.

“Zaid, look out!” Granger said.

He jerked his head up in time to glimpse two men emerging from a gap in the rocks above them, weapons up.

Fuck.

His hand flashed down for the sidearm in his holster. He drew it lightning fast and raised it just as Granger fired at the figures above them.

Too late.

Nasar lunged and knocked him over as gunfire ripped apart the silence, hurtling them both toward the cliff’s edge. Zaid bit back a curse and wrenched his body to the left, toward the safety of the rock. Nasar let out a feral snarl and tried to lash out with a boot, but Zaid blocked it and slammed a fist into the side of Nasar’s face. Pain shot through his hand as the bastard’s head snapped back and hit the rock wall.

Shaky and breathing hard, Zaid rolled to his knees and grabbed Nasar, who appeared to be at least stunned, if not unconscious, then secured his feet as well. Granger was still ahead, keeping watch on the rocks above, and finally the rest of the team emerged from the tunnel.

“Holy shit,” Hamilton breathed, backing away from the sheer drop off.

“I got Nasar,” Zaid called over his shoulder. “Gimme a hand.”

It took them eighteen minutes to haul Nasar’s dead weight back through the tunnel, to the LZ where Hamilton had called in the Blackhawks to pick them up. Some of the friendly NIU guys were there as well, many of them wounded.

“He dead?” the team leader asked.

Zaid set two fingers beneath the angle of Nasar’s jaw, felt the steady beat of his pulse. “Nah. But he’s gonna have one hell of a headache,” he said with satisfaction.

Zaid was never so glad to see a helo in his life when the two Blackhawks appeared in the midnight blue sky and flew toward them. As soon as they touched down, a mad rush of the survivors ensued.

Two men from one of the helos ran toward them, likely PJs to assist with the wounded. He hoisted Nasar over his shoulder and headed for the helo, handing him off to Maka before climbing aboard the second bird. Two of his teammates each loaded a dead NIU member on board.

As soon as everyone was inside, the pilots took off. They climbed skyward and turned to the west, ready to fly back to the FOB. Zaid couldn’t wait to get there, finish up work for the night, and call Jaliya. He needed to tell her he was okay, and he needed to hear her voice.

A spray of bullets peppered the right side of the helo.

“God dammit,” he bit out, hitting the deck with everyone else. The door gunner opened up on whoever was shooting at them below.

More rounds strafed along the aircraft’s metal skin, punching through it and sending bits of insulation raining down on them. The pilots veered sharply to the left and climbed. Then Zaid smelled it. Fuel. Even though the fuel cells and lines were self-sealing, they were leaking fuel and at risk of exploding should anything ignite it.

“You gotta be fucking kidding me,” Colebrook snarled, bracing himself as the bird pitched hard left and dropped.

Zaid couldn’t answer because his heart was stuck in his windpipe. They’d survived the ambush and Nasar, only to die in a helicopter crash?

The crew chief shouted at them, his voice carrying over the noise of the laboring engines. “Hang on tight, boys.”

Zaid closed his eyes and reached out blindly for something to anchor himself with. His hand met skin, and immediately strong fingers locked around his. He opened his eyes to see Prentiss gripping his hand, his expression grimmer than Zaid had ever seen it.

Zaid held on tight and shut his eyes again as the helo bucked and dropped sharply, summoning a picture of Jaliya’s face. She was smiling at him, her expression soft.

More bullets thudded into the aircraft. Screams of agony filled the cabin.

Trapped in the wounded bird with nowhere to hide, Zaid’s only comfort was that at least Jaliya wouldn’t see them crash into the mountain below.