by Eric Meyer
Lena had given them a good plan. There were only split seconds between the door opening, the men seeing their prize bride apparently dying on the floor, and Stoner taking down the last man.
It’s probably the only time since I came to this place that anything’s worked as it should.
Three men had raced into the cell. One knelt down to look at Lena, the second stood over him to protect him, and the third came more warily, staring through the gloom. Stoner apparently had his hands behind his back, offering no threat. The man turned to look for Greg. As soon as he turned his eyes away, the American brought his hands around and chopped hard on the Afghan's neck.
As he fell, Stoner grabbed his AKM, the modern 5.56mm version of the venerable Kalashnikov. He was already swinging it around when he noticed his first victim start to move. He hadn't hit hard enough, so he stamped back down on the exposed neck with his boot. There was no more movement. The two men next to Lena turned to look at their fallen comrade, saw their prisoner had a weapon trained on them, and started to raise their hands, too late. Stoner slammed the butt of the AKM onto the nearest man's head, kept the momentum going and smashed down it into the skull of the kneeling man.
Lena started to rise, but he put his hand on her shoulder. "Stay down. There's still one outside."
She lay back down and assumed her pose of a person near death.
"Now groan. You're dying."
The sound she made was unearthly, and it would have been a clever and determined man who failed to rush into the cell to investigate. The man was neither clever nor determined. The door opened. He raced inside, and Stoner tripped him with his boot. Greg had scooped up a dropped assault rifle and smashed the butt down on his head. Not once, not twice, but a half-dozen times, until Stoner finally stopped him.
"That's it, Russian. This isn't the gulag. If he isn't dead yet, he soon will be."
"Yob tvoyu mat. This was the fucker who nearly killed me. I thought I was going to die."
“You’ve paid him back, so forget it. Lena, are you okay? We need to leave."
She was struggling to get off the floor. One of the dead Afghans had fallen across her legs, and Stoner helped her move him to one side. She stared at the body.
"Is he dead?"
"I reckon so."
"Good. He pretended to check my vital signs, but he had one hand on my tits and the other on my fanny. Disgusting."
Stoner gave her a sympathetic nod, walked to the door, and looked out. They'd been suckered when they first came into the basement, and he didn't intend for it to happen again. It was clear. He checked the AKM had a full clip and watched Greg inspect his own weapon, an AK-47. He made sure the AK he’d picked up was also loaded, and nodded they were ready.
As they walked past Kamran's office, Stoner made a quick check but found it empty. They crept up the staircase and waited just inside the door. There was no need to worry about anyone hearing them. At the front of the prayer room it was like a revivalist prayer meeting. Haji Kamran stood on a wooden box and was in process of haranguing the crowd of armed fighters standing in front of him. They listened to his every word and greeted the end of each utterance with a mighty roar. Lena started to translate, but Stoner shook his head. "No need, I get the meaning. Go out and kill everything that moves."
She nodded, and her lips twitched in a half smile. "Near enough."
The rear of the prayer room was dim, and he took a swift look around for an escape route. More fighters lounged around; there was no way to avoid them. At that moment, one of the Afghans chose to gaze around the room. He spotted the fugitives right away and opened his mouth to shout a warning. There was only one thing to do.
Stoner shouted, "Run!"
They ran toward the rear, and forty Islamist fighters turned to stare at the fleeing prisoners. Including the prisoner who was vital to their plans, the woman who could give them the keys to untold wealth from national and international trafficking.
A half-dozen shots cracked out when Kamran screamed something in Pashto. It could only have been 'don't kill her!' He shouted something else, and Lena shrilled, "He's sending them around the back. He ordered some of them to follow us through the mosque to cut us off. We need to hurry!"
They raced across the prayer room toward the rear door. When they reached the outside, they heard the shouts of men coming around the building from both sides. Archer came to them, wagging his tail, but Greg pushed him back into the shadows. This was a job for long range shooting, and he didn’t want the dog caught in the crossfire.
Stoner glanced up and down the street, and understood the problem they faced. If they went right, they'd run straight into the enemy coming around the side of the mosque. If they went left, they’d meet the men coming from the other side. Stoner came to decision, and he racked a round into the AK.
"We’ll fight them here. Get back into the mosque behind cover. Let's see what these mothers are made of."
They both looked at him in horror.
“Can’t we get away?” Lena said, “If we stay here, they’ll kill us.”
“I’m sorry, but I don’t see any way out. We're all gonna die sooner or later. Besides, I've taken enough shit from these ragheads, it's time to throw some shit right back at them." He glanced at Greg. “Take care of her. Find some cover.”
Greg dragged the girl further back inside the door. Then he rejoined Stoner, and they stood shoulder to shoulder, waiting for the enemy to round the corner. And die. He gritted his teeth.
I’ve failed Lena and Greg. Failed Archer, too, they’re sure to kill him.
Greg had leaned down to stroke the Shepherd’s fur, trying to calm him. He felt bad about what was going to happen, but sometimes the odds were just too great.
We’ll die here, and for me there’s one benefit. I’ve been staring death in the face for many, many years. And welcome it, ever since they killed Madeleine. It’s time to rejoin her.
The running footsteps grew louder and louder.
Chapter Eleven
Haji Kamran cursed as his plans began to unravel once again. If these people escaped, it was unlikely he'd get another chance. With Ali Mazari dead, it meant he'd go back to Kabul not only empty handed, but carrying the blame for everything that had gone wrong. There was, however, a solution. The girl had to be wed. He’d already decided on the new bridegroom.
She will become Mrs. Haji Kamran, albeit for a brief period. As soon as the ink is dry on the marriage contract, she will be disposable. Which is as it should be for a mere woman. And soon, she’ll be in my hands.
His men were charging toward the back of the mosque with orders to keep her alive, and he had a sudden idea. He needed her before an Imam to pronounce the marriage vows. She didn’t have to say anything, only to be present. She could be bound and gagged for all the difference it made. The man could swear forever after she was present at the wedding.
Yes, she only needs to be there. Bound and gagged, unable to speak or move. She could even be…dead.
He cupped his hands and shouted to his men as they raced away, "Kill her! Kill them all."
He smiled to himself.
It’s the perfect solution. Women should stay silent and obey their husbands. Who is more silent than a corpse?
He started to relax, for his problems were almost over.
* * *
"Any moment. When they come, rip them to pieces. Motherfuckers, shoot the shit out of them!"
They both stared at Stoner. They knew they wouldn't leave this place, not alive. What they hadn’t realized was the depth of his hatred for the killers, rapists, murderers, and torturers. When they came around the corner and flanked them, they'd start shooting and rip them apart with automatic fire. They retreated further into the building for cover. More of the Shias were rushing across the prayer room toward them.
Stoner gripped his rifle and braced himself for the storm of gunfire he knew was about to engulf them. He heard a vehicle heading in and assumed they'd bring up a technical,
one of the trucks with a heavy machine gun mounted on back. The heavy bullets would slice into them, and they wouldn't be able to take so many of the hostiles with them. The engine noise became louder, and then it came around the corner on two wheels. It was no technical, but a white-painted SUV. Painted on the side in huge letters were the initials UNHCR.
The driver's window was down, and Max Olin leaned out to shout to them, "Get in. We don't have much time. They'll be on us in seconds."
At that moment, the doors burst open. Black Bob Crawford, Sebastian Koch, and Malik leapt to the ground and took up station to cover the approaches. They were only just in time. The first of the Islamists burst into view from the north corner of the mosque. Black Bob had armed himself with an M-60, the Vietnam-era machine gun that had proved itself a heavy-duty man stopper.
The mercenary pulled the trigger on full auto. The first five men trying to reach them went down as if a mechanical harvester had sliced through their ranks, a harvester of death. The insurgents from the other end, the south corner of the mosque, skidded to a halt before they were fully exposed. What they'd assumed was an easy task suddenly became a world of pain. Two failed to stop and cleared the corner, but Koch hit them with short, accurate bursts, and their bodies hit the ground. Malik had the rear entrance of the mosque covered, and Stoner heard him firing repeated bursts into the interior, as a bunch of Kamran's murderers tried to reach them across the prayer room.
He heard Bob shout, "For fuck’s sake get inside the vehicle. We'll hold them off."
He recovered from his surprise, grabbed hold of Lena, and tossed her bodily on the back seat. Olin was revving the engine, making certain it would be ready to respond when he floored the gas to get away. Greg ran around and climbed into the back and whistled for Archer, who leapt up beside him. The Russian knocked a hole in the rear window and pushed the barrel of his rifle through ready to give fire support. Stoner poked his gun out of the already open window, and shouted to Bob.
"We're ready, time to get out of here."
The big man glanced around, nodded, and shouted an order to his men. They fired a long burst and fell back. Crawford was last, swinging the barrel of the big machine gun around to seek more targets. There were none. The hostiles had learned their lesson.
Satisfied, he vaulted into the passenger seat and looked at Max. "Get us out of here, Olin. Don't stop for nothing. We need to keep our eyes skinned. We're not out of trouble yet. They'll follow, as sure as night follows day. That little lady is too important for them to lose."
"Where do I go?" Olin shouted.
"The airstrip where Chow landed the Otter. It's the only way we'll get out of Panjab, at least until this dies down."
Greg let loose a long volley of shots as a dozen gunmen ran out. They retreated fast. They'd seen their friends mowed down by these madmen, and they weren't about to go the same way. Paradise or no Paradise. Stoner still found the escape from what they’d believed was their deaths hard to believe, but there was no time to question fate. Besides, it wasn’t over. The Islamists caught up with them after only two blocks.
"Truck coming up from behind," Greg shouted.
"I hear you,” Black Bob shouted, “How many men on board?"
"Two, plus the driver."
"Two? Shit, I was coming back there to help out, but I'll leave 'em to you."
"The two men are manning the heavy machine gun mounted on the back."
A pause. "Second thoughts, I guess we could use the M60. Out of the way, people."
They squeezed to the sides as Bob wriggled his big body over the seats of the racing Toyota. He folded his body into the back next to Greg and started to hunt for targets, just as the enemy machine gun started to shoot. Their truck was bouncing every which way, not an easy target. The burst of heavy lead smashed into an apartment block two hundred meters ahead of them. The shots chewed chunks of masonry out of the walls, and glass showered into the street. As they raced past the damaged building, they heard the screams from the people inside; innocents who'd taken the brunt of that ill-aimed burst.
Stoner leaned out of the window and twisted his body around to take aim. He pulled the trigger and emptied the AKM at the driver of the pursuing vehicle. Only luck, not good aiming, enabled him to hit the jolting, bouncing truck. The driver threw up his hands as a shower of his blood and brains sprayed over the interior of the cab. At the same time, Bob unleashed a long burst from the M60 that bracketed the gunner and the loader, sweeping them off the truck bed and into the street, where they lay in bloody ruin. The truck rammed into the wall of a house, and all but disappeared in an avalanche of broken masonry.
Max Olin was still driving, his gaze fixed straight ahead and eyes dilated with terror. Twice he clipped the sides of buildings, and their stonework grazed paint off the side of the SUV. Stoner shouted to him to watch his driving and hit the gas pedal, but he ignored him and kept driving. Then Greg shouted, "Two more trucks just rounded the bend. No machine guns, but they're loaded with fighters."
He tried again. "Max, you have to speed up and get off the street. Take the next turn. Now!"
"Too late..."
"Do it!"
Stoner decided to ignore him. He was too far-gone with fear. He leaned over the seat, grabbed the wheel with both hands, and swung it over. They nearly lost it. The Toyota was already halfway through the ninety-degree turn, and they took it on two wheels. The SUV reared up on one side, as volleys of machine gun fire slashed past them. The pursuing Islamists had gone for the kill, and a dozen men cut loose to destroy them. Instead of peppering an apartment block, they fired low. So low that most of the shots screamed underneath the SUV and carried on up the street to find some anonymous target. A couple of them drilled holes in the bodywork, without serious damage.
"Another turn coming up, Max, do it now."
This time Olin obeyed. Maybe he thought it was the safer option rather than having Stoner overturn their charging vehicle. He swung into the next street and started to slow. He called back to Stoner.
"We're heading away from the airfield; we have to find a way back."
"Keep going. We’re making a stop on the way."
"A stop? Are you crazy?"
Seb Koch looked at him. "We're heading for the airfield, Stoner, and there's no way we're making any stop on the way. Try it and Bob'll kill you. If he doesn’t, I will.”
Crawford had overheard. "Damn right I'll kill you. Keep heading for the airfield, Olin, or I'll put a bullet in you and drive myself."
He accelerated away, but Stoner wasn't done. He twisted around to talk to Bob. "Listen, I appreciate you got us out of a jam, but we have to make this stop. Trust me, Bob, if we don't, all this will have been for nothing."
The merc shook his head. "There's no way. Keep going, Olin."
He tried again. "Bob, listen to me. Ivan would want this. If he finds out we had the opportunity and we threw it away, he'll go ballistic. Do it right, and you'll pick up plenty of contracts from him in the future. Do it wrong, and you'll be on his shitlist for the next ten years."
A sigh. "You’d better explain."
"We're going to the UNHCR building."
"What for? You want to pick up some boxes of dried milk to feed the hungry? No way."
"It's not dried milk. You have to trust me on this one Bob. If I'm wrong, shoot me."
"I probably will, anyway. Okay, Olin, head for your headquarters."
There was no reply, and Stoner noticed the way the Norwegians' body had tensed.
Olin darted him a quick glance. "Why are we going to my headquarters? There's nothing there of any use to us. We should head out of the city, drive to the airfield, and get Lena away from here. She's suffered enough."
"Yes, she's suffered enough, Max. That's why we're going to your building. Where is it, where did you store it, with the foodstuffs? No, that would be too public. You must have an equipment store somewhere in place for high value stuff. Radios, medical electronics, computers, things like t
hat, is it in there?"
"I don't know what you're talking about."
The denial was forced. Much too forced. Olin turned onto a wide, urban highway that led directly to UNHCR, Panjab, but he’d slowed his speed. As if he didn’t want to reach the UNHCR compound.
"What the fuck's going on?" Bob snarled from the rear, “Two truckloads of fighters just rounded a corner a couple of hundred meters back. Speed it up, Olin, or we'll all be dead."
Blum shouted, “They’re getting nearer. They’ll start shooting any moment.”
Bob glanced to the back. "Shit! Russian, are you up to it? Hit 'em!"
At that moment, he cut loose with the M60. A split second later, Greg joined in with short bursts from the AK.
Their pursuers opened fire, and more bullets tore into the bodywork of the SUV. The windshield starred and cracked, and Stoner used his boots to knock out the remaining glass. He turned and shot back, and then the firing pin clicked on empty. The silent Malik heard the metallic click, and without a word took out a submachine gun from under his coat and handed it to him.
"Full load?"
Malik nodded once and then leaned out of the other side window to shoot at the trucks that were gaining on them. Stoner looked at the weapon the Afghan had given him, a tiny Czech Skorpion vz 61. The magazine was the curved version that carried twenty 9mm rounds. Pistol rounds, little stopping power against heavily armed men pursuing you in trucks, although it was better than nothing. Perfect for close-quarters battle, so the trick would be to wait until they got up close.
Olin was slowing again, despite all of them cursing him to drive faster. Seb Koch slammed the barrel of his rifle between the driver's shoulder blades. "That's to let you know what it feels like. The next time you feel it, bullets are going to come out the end. There'll be so much lead in you, I'll toss you in the river, and you'll go straight to the bottom."
