by Eric Meyer
“It is you who will stand down. I order you to drop your guns. Otherwise, my men will have no choice but to open fire. There’s been a lot of shooting, and until we find out who was involved, you must put down your weapons.”
He sighed. “Sergeant, I wouldn’t advise you to push it.”
“Why?”
“You’re outnumbered.”
His lips parted in a thin smile. “Unless you don’t know how to count, there are four of us, soldiers the Army of the Islamic Republic of Afghanistan. We are in charge, and I give the orders.”
“There are seven of us.”
“Seven?”
He pointed to the Land Cruiser picking its way past the red and white striped pole. The big Toyota braked to a halt, and Ivan climbed out with his men. Akram and Gorgy carried identical assault rifles, American M4A1s; a better weapon in every respect than the battered AK-47s of the border guards. Ivan was as elegant as ever in his khaki slacks and well cut leather flight jacket. His weapon was somewhat different, almost like something out of a museum. Some would say it was also elegant, but that would depend on which end of the barrel you were looking at.
The big advantage of the Thompson M1921 Tommy gun in a tight confrontation was its appearance. The antiquated design, originally named the Annihilator, may have attracted grins in these modern times. But when armed men are facing each other, the cumbersome, heavy weapon with its drum magazine was enough to overawe an opponent every bit as much as it did in its heyday, 1930s Chicago. Al Capone, and the bootlegging gangsters employed the Thompson to create a climate of fear. The knowledge the drum magazine carried one hundred .45 caliber rounds which it could spew out in just a few seconds was enough to sober the most fervent of opponents.
The CIA’s man in Afghanistan smiled. “What’s going on here, guys?”
The Sergeant looked outraged. “I ordered these men to drop their guns, and that goes for you, too.”
Ivan nodded and kept his smile intact. “Guys, guys, this is just a misunderstanding. Why don’t you forget it? You wouldn’t want us to travel these badlands without weapons, now would you?”
The noncom’s red, angered face suggested that was exactly what he would like, but Ivan had a way to placate him, something far more powerful in Afghanistan than an assault rifle. It was called money. He pulled a wad of bills from inside his jacket, and with a gesture that suggested he’d done it many times in the past, started to count out the notes. Passed them to the Sergeant, who nodded an agreement and turned to his men to begin handing them their share. Then he turned back.
“Would one of you be Stoner?”
“What of it?”
He looked worried. “I, er, had a call from Jalalabad, a Captain Hosseini. He said you may be heading this way, and I was to stop you and put you under arrest.”
“So?”
“Well, er, you should, er come with me.”
“No.”
“No? Why not?”
“I’ll give you three reasons. First, he just paid you.”
“That’s true, but that was for something else.”
“Second, my gun’s bigger than yours.” He showed him the Desert Eagles, back in their holsters. The cop stared at the big automatics, his eyes beginning to glaze with understanding. Stoner gestured to Ivan and his men. Greg was standing nearby with Sara.
”Third, we still outnumber you. If it came to a fight, you’d better make sure your accidental death plan covers the funeral expenses.”
“I, er…” His eyes looked left and right for an escape.
“Just drop it, buddy. Let it go, enjoy your life. You never saw me.”
His shoulders straightened. He had a way out. “That is correct. I never saw you. I wouldn’t even recognize you if you’d been here, which you haven’t. Not ever.”
“That’s good. Forget Hosseini. He’s a vicious little shit. All he’d want is a cut of your bribe money.”
He nodded vigorously. “Disgusting what some policemen will do. I will tell him nothing.”
Stoner edged away and joined Ivan, Greg, and Sara.
Ivan grinned. “What can you do with these guys? Their officers steal their wages, even the little bit that’s left when the government in Kabul has taken their cut, and they don’t have enough to feed their families. Is he okay now, the cop?”
“He’s fine.”
“Good, good. I have the rifle in the trunk of my SUV, as well as a few boxes of ammunition for the machine gun.”
“Machine gun?”
He grinned. “Yeah, just in case. You never know what kind of trouble you’re going to run into.”
He fixed the CIA man with a hard stare. “Tell me what you know that we don’t.”
He looked outraged. “I told you everything, so the job should be a cinch. The biggest payday you’ve ever had, and all you need do is cover Wayne while he takes the shot. Where is he, by the way?”
Stoner pointed to the narrow path leading down from the plateau. “Last I saw he was over there. Greg, you seen Wayne?”
“Not since he went up there with you. He can’t be too far.”
For the first time, Sara looked worried. “It’s essential we don’t lose sight of him. Could he have been injured during the fight? It’s vital we find him before we go on.”
Vital?
Once again Stoner wondered what was going on between them.
How could she fall for a guy like Wayne Evers? Jesus, sometimes he doesn’t even wash, a legacy of the fifteen years he spent as a hermit in the mountains above Tora Bora. Still, it takes all types to make a world. I just wish I wasn’t always on the losing side.
They wasted a half hour hunting for Evers and drew a blank. Ivan was furious.
“That bastard, he’s essential to the entire plan. Without a sniper, the whole thing is a bust. Stupid bastard, he’s gone walkabout again. I should have known not to trust him.” He gave Stoner a hard stare. “It looks like you get out of it after all. Except you and your pal have missed out on a big payday. And you, Miss Carver, you can forget any story. We’ll have to postpone this until I can find another shooter.”
She started to protest, her eyes locked on his. “We can’t just cancel it. We have to find Wayne, and then carry on to Tora Bora to do the job we came here to do. It’s important, much too important to let a minor setback force us to abandon it.”
Ivan shook his head. “Minor setback, lady? This is a major setback. Without a trained sniper, it’s all a waste of time.”
“But…”
“But nothing. I’ll have to source someone else to do the job, so it’s all on hold for a few weeks.”
They argued fiercely, and Stoner was puzzled at the strength of her passion. As if she’d lost a man who was very important to her, and although he understood they were close, it didn’t add up. He was still mulling it over when Greg said, “I can do it.”
Ivan’s head swung around. “You can do what?”
“I can take the shot.”
He snorted. “You can’t be serious. There’s no way you can get close enough, which means firing at extreme long-range. Around two kilometers is our best estimate. How much training have you had?”
“Enough.”
He shook his head. “Greg, you were never military. You don’t know what you’re saying.”
“Ivan, I was learning how to shoot at long-range when I was a kid. My father was…”
Ivan stopped him with a gesture. “Yeah, I’ve heard it before. He was Spetsnaz, but that doesn’t mean you have the same training.”
“I can take the shot. Get me to the right place, and when Mohammed Tarzi puts his head up, I’ll blast it off.”
Ivan pondered for a few moments, giving Greg a keen stare. “You’re sure about this?”
“I’m sure. Give me the Barrett, and make sure you have that money ready when we get back.”
Ivan held his chin for long moments, thinking seriously. “Yeah, it could work. Maybe we could…” He stopped and muttered an expletive, “No wa
it, Wayne Evers wasn’t just going along to take the shot. Remember, he spent fifteen years in that Godforsaken shithole. Part of his job was to find a shooting stand where you could lay up without being discovered by Tarzi’s fanatics. Jesus Christ, they’ll be all over those hills, patrolling, training, that place is more like Fort Bragg these days.”
Stoner shot him a sharp look. This was new, the target area riddled with enemy fighters. It explained in part the sizeable amount of money they were prepared to spend on the hit; a one-way contract with no return ticket. Suddenly, everything took on a different dimension. It was one thing to infiltrate a quiet, isolated area and get out again, quite another to set up shop in a place crawling with bad guys. It was just as well they weren’t going. The operation was a death sentence.
He was about to suggest to Greg they returned to the GAZ and head home when the Afghan goatherd tapped him on the shoulder.
“Sir, Sir! If you want someone to guide you into Tora Bora, I can help. I know that place better than I know my own village. I have spent many months in that area looking after my goats.”
He brushed him off. “You can’t help. You don’t know why we’re going.”
“You’re going to kill a man,” he said happily, “Mohammed Tarzi, his men intended to kill me. I would like to see him dead, and besides, it is the least I can do.”
Stoner shook his head and started to walk away, but the young Afghan wasn’t giving up. “Sir, you must let me repay you for my life.”
He tried to ignore him and kept walking.
Some repayment. An operation that would almost certainly have got us all killed.
“The kid has a point,” Ivan said, “If he knows the area, why shouldn’t he do it? You’ve got Greg to take the shot, and this guy to scout the area and find somewhere to hole up. You’re back on course.”
He tried to argue and got nowhere. Greg was determined to go, his eyes fixed firmly on the massive payday when the job was done. Ghulam the goatherd was almost dancing up and down in his enthusiasm to repay what he felt he owed to Stoner. It made no difference. They weren’t going. He glanced at Sara.
“When we get back to Jbad, you can get a flight out of Jalalabad International.”
Her answer surprised him. “You’re right. There doesn’t seem to be much point in going on. He was the key to the whole thing.”
He didn’t understand what she meant.
Why is he the key to the whole thing? There’s something I don’t understand, something she’s keeping to herself. Wayne was a shooter, no more. A great marksman, true, but by no means the only one inside Afghanistan. Why is he so important?
He waited for her to say more, and she straightened and stared at him, as if she'd come to a decision. “On the other hand, Wayne may turn up sooner or later, so there’s no reason to call anything off. We should go on. It’s important for my…” She stuttered to a stop.
For your what?
“What makes you think he’ll turn up?”
“Nothing.” Her tone was truculent, “I just know, that’s all.”
Greg went to Ivan’s SUV, lifted out the wooden crate with the Barrett, and carried it across to his GAZ. Ivan’s two men, Gorgy and Akram, helped him with the supplies. The machine gun proved to be an M60, with several boxes of ammunition for both the M60 and the Barrett. He climbed into the driving seat and started the engine.
He glanced at Ivan and muttered, “It looks like I’m outvoted.”
A big grin; “It does. Good luck, buddy. I’ll have the money waiting for you. And don’t worry about that other little problem; I’ll help you sort it. You’ll be fine, Stoner, a quick job, in and out, and back home.”
He walked toward the battered Russian jeep, and Ghulam ran after him, “Sir, Sir, don’t forget, I am coming with you. Where would you like me to sit?”
He’d gone way past arguing, and besides, something about Sara Carver intrigued him. All he could hope was he’d live long enough to find out what it was. At that moment, his cellphone rang, picking up a signal from the mast on the Pakistan side of the Torkham border crossing. He pressed the button.
“Stoner.”
“I have a warrant for your arrest.” The voice was familiar, a harsh snarl, “You will report to the Central Police Station, and you will be permitted to bring your lawyer. Not that it will do you any good. The judge who issued the warrant is a devout Muslim, and this time no amount of bribe money will change it. Where are you?”
He fought hard to contain his laughter. “I’m on vacation in Tora Bora, Hosseini. It’s a well-known Islamic beauty spot. Why don’t you come out and join me?”
A pause. “When you return, my officers will be looking to make the arrest. As for your business…”
“You touch my business, Hosseini, and you’re signing your own death warrant. You know what I do for a living.”
This time the pause was longer. “I know.” His voice was less certain, a hint of anxiety.
“Good. Go near my business, and your name goes to the top of my list. You’ll be next. That’s a promise.”
He ended the call and smiled, knowing the cop wouldn’t dare. Not yet, not while he was free and able to come after him.
When I get back, I’ll have to deal with both Hosseinis. Tough, it’s their funerals. They declared war, and I’ll finish it.
He put the cop out of his mind, took the seat beside Greg, and they roared off in a cloud of smoke and a clatter of engine bearings. Ghulam sat in the rear with Sara. They were on their way. The question in Stoner’s mind was what were they heading into, two choices, either something bad, or very bad.
They got to within twenty klicks of Tora Bora, and Ghulam began to demonstrate the value of his knowledge. Greg went to turn onto the track that would lead directly to their destination, but he stopped him.
“Sir, not that way. The last time I came here they were out patrolling in strength. Unless things have changed, we’ll run into a patrol before we even make it halfway to the caves. He pointed to a steep, narrow track that led over the hillside. It looked like a long detour, and Greg questioned him at length about it, but he was adamant. There was no other way. It was that or get their asses shot off. They were soon reduced to a slow crawl, creeping up the hillside in first gear and low ratio transmission selected.
The GAZ coughed and spluttered, and at times threatened to come to a standstill, but somehow it made it to the top of the hill. When they crested the peak, Greg groaned and stopped. A short stretch of level ground lay before them, littered with loose rocks. The track they had to take was another slope; steeper and higher than the one they’d barely managed to climb. He looked at Ghulam.
“Is this the only way? I doubt we can make it.”
The boy nodded enthusiastically. “You will make it, Sir. The going is only a little more difficult than what we have just managed. If you keep going now, we should reach the top before dark.”
Stoner glanced at his watch. The time was barely midday. The boy was talking about them spending another six hours battling uphill on terrain that appeared to be harsher than the surface of the moon. Without a word, Greg put the GAZ back into gear and started moving ahead. They bumped and bounced their way over the flat ground and started climbing again. They were still ascending the slope when darkness fell. It happened fast, as if someone had thrown a blanket over the sun. Headlights were out of the question, and Stoner had no choice but to walk ahead with a shielded flashlight to find pick their way through.
They made it to the top of the slope at 21.00 and called a halt. The GAZ was wheezing, the radiator almost boiling over, and they were numb and tired after the nightmare journey. Stoner announced they’d rest until dawn and then carry on. Sara said she wanted to press on under cover of the night. He pointed out the darkness would also hide every hazard, every fissure and gully that could almost swallow the jeep, and at the least, bust an axle if they were unlucky. On the other hand, maybe it wouldn’t be unlucky. If they had no vehicle, how could t
hey go any further?
Greg took out camouflage covers and netting, and they used them as makeshift bedding. They were offered scant protection from the hard ground, and the summit of the hillside was still freezing. When the first tendrils of dawn began to show over the distant peaks, he opened his eyes to see the countryside before them almost like a relief map, stretching to the range of hills that were home to the cave known as Tora Bora. The track they’d originally planned to follow was a winding ribbon that connected to the caves.
They saw the first insurgents. A line of men making their way purposefully along the track, no doubt searching for signs of the infidels. They turned a bend and disappeared behind another hillside. After that, the terrain was empty, and they began to prepare for the coming day. None of them had slept well, and Stoner had intended to heat ration cans to take a simple breakfast before they left. But they were out of time, and Greg started the engine. They boarded the vehicle. He put it into gear and drove away. To continue on the narrow track that seemed to go anywhere except in the direction of Tora Bora, although Ghulam insisted they were heading the right way.
Two hours later, Stoner opened his mouth to tell Greg they needed to take a coffee break, when the bunch of armed men appeared out of nowhere, blazing away with assault rifles at a second group. Then the crump of an exploding grenade sent fragments of rock and dust flying into the air.
Chapter Five
They were close, six hundred meters away, two warbands, and each about thirty men. Greg had seen enough action in his time to know a moving object was easiest for the human eye to pick out, and he brought the GAZ to a halt. They watched, frozen into inaction, with no option but to watch the swelling battle being fought so close to where they waited. Incredibly, the Islamists hadn’t noticed them. The battle was an exercise, raw troops, mere rookies kicked and coaxed into action by their squad leaders. Men who fired live rounds over their heads and peppered the ground around them.
Not one head turned to look at them. Moving with slow caution, Stoner and Blum took out the camouflage netting and draped it over the jeep. When they’d finished, they ducked underneath and watched the battle. They’d been lucky. The action reached a crescendo, and at least two men didn’t get up when the whistles blew for the exercise to finish. Their comrades carried the bodies away, and Stoner glanced at Greg.
