Chapter Three

Zaid cupped his gloved hands together and blew on them as he crouched in the frigid darkness at the base of a rise with his teammates. Overhead, the thick cloud cover obscured the moon and stars.

The temperature here in the foothills of the Hindu Kush Mountains had dropped well below freezing over the past hour and a light snow had begun to fall. Forecasters expected an accumulation of between six and nine inches by morning, meaning FAST Bravo had to make this quick if they wanted to avoid being stuck here in the bitter cold until the storm passed sometime tomorrow.

Back at the comparative warmth of Bagram hours ago, they’d attended a briefing given by Agent Rabani and her team, based on the interview he’d helped with that morning. The tiny village Barakat had mentioned lay nestled in a small valley three hundred yards up the side of the mountain. Zaid hoped like hell the kid hadn’t been lying, because this would be a damn waste of manpower and resources.

An icy blast of wind roared down the mountainside, slicing against his face like the blade of a knife. They were way out in no man’s land. The terrain here was too rugged for their helo to set down, so they’d had to fast rope in and hump it to the target on foot.

Above him, Freeman was already halfway up the face of the hillside, in the lead as usual as he set the anchors in the rock. Hamilton was next, and Prentiss was a dozen yards behind him.

Zaid slung his weapon across his back to keep it out of the way as he clipped his harness onto the guide rope and reached for the bit of rock sticking out of the snow-covered earth, using it as a handhold as he pulled himself up. The rest of his teammates all waited below for their turn, maintaining a secure perimeter along with the twelve members of the Afghan National Interdiction Unit they were working with for this op.

The twenty-yard climb was no joke with the swirling snow and wind. By the time he reached the top, he was breathing hard and sweating, and his fingers were numb. The instant he cleared the edge of the cliff and unhooked from the rope, the wind howled around him, blowing dust and the light covering of snow around enough to screw with his visibility.

After adjusting his goggles, he hurried over to where Hamilton was crouched near a large boulder and added his own eyes and ears to form a secure perimeter while the others began the ascent. Once everyone was with them, Hamilton gave Prentiss the order to deploy the drone.

Prentiss launched it and flew it up the steep hillside, turning it to the left to give them a bird’s eye view of the target village. He and Hamilton watched the screen while Prentiss maneuvered their tiny spy from his remote control with the dexterity of a lifelong gamer.

“Two sentries posted, one appears asleep,” Hamilton’s low voice said through Zaid’s headset. The NIU had its own translator with them so Zaid didn’t have to do the honors.

Not surprising one sentry was asleep, given the time of night and weather conditions. Only freaking lunatics would dare come to this remote place right now.

“Suspected cache location appears unguarded.”

Bonus. Now if they could just get up there and take the villagers by surprise, they might not only find what they were looking for, but make it out unscathed as well. And if they were really lucky, they might even get a lock on The Jackal’s location.

“It’s a go,” Hamilton said. “Let’s move.”

Good, because he hated waiting around out here in the open, exposed to both the elements and potential enemy eyes, and a brisk hike would at least keep their blood moving. It was freaking freezing even with all the layers and specialized material they wore.

Together the combined units made the two-mile hike up the steep switchbacks carved into the hillside, and paused just out of sight of the alert sentry’s position. Hamilton waved Zaid over. He jogged to him, leaned in close so he could hear his team leader over the swirling wind.

“NIU will go in first. I want you with them, so you can translate what’s going on for the rest of us.”

“Roger.” He motioned for the head of the NIU to join them and relayed the information, then waited for the Afghan force to move in. When their commander gave the order, Zaid stayed near the front of the column, weapon up and ready, scanning for threats.

“This is the police,” one of the NIU members said in Pashto into a bullhorn as they reached the edge of the village.

The wide-eyed sentry stared at them in astonishment, and slowly raised his hands. His sleeping counterpart had dashed to his feet and grabbed for his rifle amidst the layers of robes he had wrapped around him, but froze when he saw how badly he was outnumbered.

“If you are armed, put down your weapons,” the NIU member continued. “We are searching the village.”

The second sentry dropped his AK like it was red-hot and stuck his hands in the air. While two members of the NIU engaged him to check for more weapons, Zaid stayed with the main force as they moved into the village, which was made up of a dozen or so dun-colored mud brick buildings.

Shouts of alarm and cries erupted from inside the dwellings. Zaid kept his weapon up, his finger on the trigger guard. They were here to seize drugs, weapons, cash, and hopefully net one very annoyed Jackal. The rules of engagement stated that they could only fire in self-defense or to protect the NIU members.

Through the confusion heightened by the darkness and swirling snow, men began to emerge from the buildings. Zaid watched their hands, assessing each man individually before moving to the next.

“Who are you? What are you doing here?” yelled one old man, his white beard and tunic blowing in the wind.

“We are conducting a search,” the NIU spokesman answered.

“A search for what?” he demanded amidst a rumble of dissent from the other men now gathered in their doorways. “We are a peaceful village. No Taliban here.”

The NIU member ignored him. “Stand back while we search each house.”

Zaid passed on the info to Hamilton and the others via his headset. They all knew a little Pashto and Dari, but none were fluent except Zaid, who spoke both like a native thanks to his parents.

The teams moved quickly to check and secure each building before beginning the search while Hamilton and the NIU leader tried to get intel about The Jackal. Prentiss and Colebrook went with Zaid into one dwelling and together they swept the place in a few minutes. Several women were in the back room, comforting frightened children, and frantically covered their heads and faces with their shawls.

“Be at ease, sisters,” Zaid told them. “We aren’t going to hurt you.”

But they were here to search every nook and cranny and get whatever intel they could.

He approached one woman, who was sitting on the floor with a crying infant in her lap, and hunkered down in front of her. “The Jackal. Have you heard that name before?”

She shrank away from him, hugging her child tighter to her.

“He’s a dangerous man. There is a large reward for information leading to his capture. Have you heard anything about him?”

She shook her head, her body language screaming her fear and uncertainty.

Zaid moved to the next. “What about you? Have you heard something about The Jackal? Has he been here?”

“No,” the woman said, completely hidden from view by her shawl. “Now leave us in peace.”

The third woman also denied knowing anything about The Jackal. Zaid didn’t buy it. Even out here people would know who he was. They might be telling the truth about him not being here, but Zaid wasn’t leaving anything to chance.

All the intel said The Jackal had either been here within the past few days, or was about to move a shipment through here. And Zaid had noticed that all of the women had remained seated atop a threadbare rug on the floor with their children, rather than retreat to the corners of the room when he and his teammates had burst in.

With a few calm orders, he got the women and children up and moved to the front room of the tiny house, leaving the woven rug vacant. Lifting a corner of it from the dirt floor, Zaid found a sheet of plywood beneath it.

Bingo. “Got something,” he said to the others, who came over immediately.

Holding a flashlight in one hand, he checked for anything that hinted at a booby trap before pulling the plywood aside, revealing a shallow, rectangular pit in the ground. A thin layer of plant material covered the bottom of it.

He reached in to grab some and brought it to his nose to smell it, then looked up at his teammates. “Hash.” Only a tiny amount, though, not nearly enough to reach the arrest threshold. And definitely no Jackal hiding in the hole with it. “You guys find anything?”

“No.”

Zaid relayed his findings to Hamilton, who reported the same from the rest of the team. “Anything?” Zaid asked him.

“A few old rifles, probably for hunting. Nothing to write home about. Target’s not here, and neither is the dope. NIU’s turned up nothing either.”

Damn. The taskforce had seemed so sure that they were closing in on The Jackal, that this op might nail him. Agent Rabani was gonna be pissed that they’d hit yet another dead end even with Barakat’s tip, and Zaid didn’t blame her. He actually felt bad for her. She’d been working her ass off trying to get a break in this case, and because he liked and admired her, he wanted to see her succeed.

Setting aside his frustration, Zaid took pictures of the pit and checked a few crates stacked in the corner to make sure he hadn’t missed something. Back outside, the bitter wind stung his face as he reconvened with his disgruntled teammates. Looked like this op was a total bust. “Maybe we’re early.”

“Maybe,” Hamilton muttered, sounding totally unconvinced as he looked around at the NIU finishing their own search of the village. The wind continued to howl around them, buffeting against the rock wall the village was set into, slicing at their faces. “Go with the NIU and start questioning some of the elders. Find out what they know.”

“You got it.”

Within half an hour, it was evident that the elders knew nothing. Or at least pretended they didn’t. If The Jackal had planned to use this village as a smuggling base, no one knew anything about it. Oh, they’d heard of him. Everyone had. But there hadn’t been a shipment of drugs or any outsiders here recently, and none were expected.

Bullfuckingshit, but they’d definitely hit a dead end. All they had for their trouble was a small pile of weapons they’d confiscated, including a British Enfield left over from the 1800s. These people needed rifles to hunt to feed their families, so the NIU would only confiscate the handful of automatic weapons.

Zaid relayed the disappointing info to Hamilton, who gave a terse nod and reported it back to HQ. Agent Rabani would be there, waiting for word. She and her superiors weren’t going to be happy that they were no closer to finding The Jackal’s trail after all her work on this. She needed to have another talk with young Barakat and find out what the hell had gone wrong.

He shouldn’t be thinking about her so much, and for sure not when he was on an op. Zaid sighed and looked around him at the pissed-off villagers all going back into their homes. Maybe they’d come too early. Maybe the smugglers hadn’t been able to make it up the mountain in these conditions.

Or maybe Barakat had lied to their faces to throw them off The Jackal’s trail, playing one side off the other and taking money from both.

Zaid wouldn’t put it past the kid. Hell, after the things he’d seen and heard about over here over the past decade, nothing would surprise him in this country.

“All right, let’s get out of here,” Hamilton finally said, and pivoted to head out of the village.

Cold and discouraged, Zaid and the others started down the mountain with the rest of the unit. The reward for their efforts tonight was a long, cold hike to reach the exfil point, where they’d wait for helos that would fly them back to Bagram.

****

“The shipment made it across the border without incident.”

The Jackal closed his eyes and let out a relieved breath at the news from his contact. “God is great.”

“Yes, God is great. I wanted to alert you as soon as I knew.”

He grunted. The intelligence planted through his network had worked, and led FAST Bravo to the wrong location. “Any further word on the boy yet?”

“Not yet. I’m working on it though.”

“I should hope so.” He knew which funnel the informant was working through. Now it was just a matter of time before he found out who it was. “Keep me informed.”

“Of course.”

Setting his phone down on the table, he rose and crossed to the window that overlooked the sleeping city. A gust of wind rattled the glass in its frame. Lights dotted the darkened landscape of Kabul spread out before him as snowflakes drifted past.

It looked so serene and peaceful right now, the darkness hiding the scars of war left carved on the land. Deceptive. But he knew how fragile the illusion was. And how quickly a new offensive or suicide attack by the Taliban or any other insurgent group could shatter the stillness in an instant.

He was no stranger to violence and death. Anyone who posed a threat to him and his operations would earn a swift and violent end. He’d come too far and risked too much to turn back now.

A few more shipments, and with his cut of the profits he would have earned enough to get his son the things he needed. He would be able to get his entire family out of this country to start over somewhere new. Somewhere safe where they could live like kings without the fear of death hanging over them like a constant pall.

A small, rattling cough from down the hall broke him out of his thoughts.

On silent feet, he walked the length of the hallway. His wife emerged from their bedroom and opened the door opposite it. The soft glow of a lamp flooded the dingy hallway and the soft murmur of her voice floated out to him.

Reaching the other bedroom, he paused in the doorway to take in the scene before him. His wife sat on the edge of their son’s bed, propping him up with a few pillows behind his back. The boy’s face was pale and sweaty, a bluish tinge around his eyes and mouth. Just five years old. Far too young to know such anguish.

Those dark, sunken eyes swung up to him as another ghastly cough rattled that thin chest, and The Jackal’s heart clenched with helpless grief. His boy had suffered so much in his young life. Too much.

Putting on a confident smile, The Jackal walked over and sat beside his son while his wife scurried off to get more medicine. “Is it bad tonight?” he murmured to Beena, placing a gentle hand on top of his son’s head.

The boy nodded, his breaths raspy and strained, his eyes pleading for an end to his torment.

Somehow he kept the smile in place. “Well, your mother has gone to bring you more medicine. That will make you feel better and help you rest.”

Another nod, and Beena closed his eyes, as though they were too heavy to keep open.

The Jackal kept his hand on his son’s sweaty hair, stroking his fingers through it gently. “It won’t be long now. Another few weeks at most, and we can take you to a special doctor who will fix everything.”

With a soft sigh, the boy slumped against the pillows.

The Jackal sat there in the pool of lamplight and stroked Beena’s damp hair, unable to do anything more while he listened to each labored breath his son took. Anger and determination swelled until they all but choked him.

It wasn’t right. Wasn’t fair that his son should have to suffer like this simply because the procedure he needed wasn’t available in Afghanistan. Not even from the American and British surgeons at the military bases.

His wife’s soft footfalls reached him a moment before a gentle hand touched his shoulder. Her beautiful face was lined with worry and fatigue, her once raven black hair turned gray at the temples from the constant stress she lived with. She held the prescription bottle in her other hand.

“How much longer?” she whispered, the strain clear in her voice.

He didn’t pretend not to know what she meant. How long until he had the money they needed to get Beena better. “Not long.” He reached up to squeeze her hand in reassurance before pushing to his feet.

In the doorway, he paused to look back as she roused their son from his fitful slumber to give him the medicine.

Resolve hardened inside him. His son needed a life-saving operation, and he would make certain it happened, even if he had to work with the Veneno cartel to do it.

He didn’t care who he had to work with or betray to make it happen.