by Eric Meyer
The man backed away, and Stoner kept crowding him. He was edging sideways toward him, almost a circular motion, and soon Tarzi’s back would be toward the staircase. After that, either his gamble would succeed, or it would fail. He needed a friendly to be up there, someone who didn’t want to see an innocent woman gunned down in cold blood. Such men were thin on the ground in Afghanistan, men with a sense of decency, morals, and fair play. He always could hope. He heard the noise again, and this time Tarzi heard it, too. Looked up and sneered.
“That is a child’s bedroom. Do you think an infant will come down and save you, infidel? Allah protects me, and I cannot be killed. Child, come down here!”
A movement sounded from above, and a young girl, maybe five years of age, appeared at the top of the staircase. He gestured to her.
“Come down here, and go to your mother. She is in the back room.”
She came down the stairs and said something in Pashto to Tarzi. He chuckled.
“Do you want to know what she said? She’s not frightened of the monster. Stupid child, why do they have such fantasies? Go to your mother, girl. Quickly, or I will beat you.”
She pushed through the curtain. Stoner knew he’d made the wrong call. All he had left was to try for a fast draw, snatch out the gun, and kill the bastard. Sara would die unless he could do something. The Islamist shouted something in Pashto to the mother in the back room, and then he heard it again. A faint noise from upstairs, like a claw scratching along the floor. He knew it was no monster. Archer was up there. He must have taken the outside iron staircase. Somehow, the clever animal had worked out where he’d be most needed, more sense than most humans. Well, most Afghans.
He knew Archer would be waiting for something, probably a command, a signal to go into action. He was still trying to work it out when Tarzi waved the gun in his direction, and his eyes flashed a warning. He was about to pull the trigger, but the gun wasn’t pressed into Sara’s neck.
“Perhaps I don’t need you to drop the gun. I will kill you now.”
He pointed the muzzle at his belly, and Stoner dove away. Too late, the bullet hit him in the side, but not his belly. He crashed to the floor, sending waves of pain from the wound shooting around his body. The Islamist leader moved toward the back room. He glimpsed movement and took a quick glance up the staircase, saw Archer, and fired two shots. The dog disappeared, and he carried on toward the doorway. Took a last glance at Stoner starting to pick himself painfully off the floor, and fired another shot; this one tore away a chunk of flesh a few inches above where the first bullet had hit. He spun to the floor, his head slammed into the concrete, and he lay still. Tarzi grunted in satisfaction and spat toward him.
Sara screamed. “You killed him!”
“Yes, I killed him.”
He dragged her through the door and disappeared out of the house. Several minutes later, Stoner regained consciousness, and every part of him hurt like it was on fire. When he got up, Tarzi had gone, along with Sara Carver. He picked up his guns, thinking about his next move. There was no sign of the dog.
Where is Archer? Did he kill him?
“Archer, here. I need you.”
Nothing. No noise from the second floor, just silence. The dog had gone, but where? Was he dead? He felt an overwhelming sense of grief, but through the waves of pain that tore through him, he recalled he hadn’t heard another shot, so maybe he was wrong. He’d worry about Archer later, right now he needed to find Sara and kill Mohammed Tarzi. He staggered to the door, clutching his side.
He glanced around, thinking furiously about where Tarzi could have gone, and came up with a possible answer. His men had been at the Crazy Horse, and after the gunfight, a few of them would have survived. If he were going anywhere, it would be there to get help, to get shooters, and his tame cops to help him, the Hosseinis. He started to limp away, and when he reached the Crazy Horse, he peered through a tiny gap in the torn drapes.
He was in there. Sara lay on the floor covered by the gun of a cop. Tarzi was talking to Captain Hosseini. Three Islamists covered the front door with their guns. Ivan and his mercenaries had disappeared. A half-dozen bodies lay on the floor, one was a merc, the rest were hostiles, two cops, and three insurgents. Reading the situation, he guessed Ivan had gone when he assumed Stoner would finish Tarzi. Back to Ma’s, or left Jbad altogether, so he was on his own. Alone, without Greg, who was seriously ill in the hospital, Archer had strayed, and Sara was a captive.
He watched Tarzi bark an order at the cop. The man grinned, racked a round into his pistol, and pointed it at Sara. The man was about to kill her, and he didn’t wait anymore. One man against many, and it would have to be enough. He made sure his weapons were loaded and ready to fire, held the Uzi one-handed, a Desert Eagle in the other, and kicked open the door. They gazed at him open-mouthed, at the apparition with torn and bloodied clothes, eyes wild with fury, but the guns looking as businesslike as ever.
Then he fired a long burst from the Uzi, sweeping it from side to side. He took down the three Islamists in a row, finishing off the magazine with the last two bullets fired low into Captain Hosseini’s belly. He staggered and fell, screaming in pain. Tarzi reacted like a greased rattlesnake and dove behind the bar. He shouted something to the cop standing over Sara, and then fired several shots at Stoner. He returned fire with the Desert Eagle, shattering glasses and the heavy woodwork. He knew instinctively he’d missed.
Tarzi popped up, fired two more shots, and ducked down again. He heard him moving along the floor to the far end of the bar. He took a flying leap and sprawled on the bar top. The momentum took him along the polished surface, scattering bottles and glasses. He continued to the end. He was there, crouched in the corner, his gun pointed toward the other end of the bar where he expected Stoner to come through. Too late, and the first .50 caliber bullets smashed into his belly. He reeled back, still alive, still holding the gun, and Stoner fired again. And missed. The hammer clicked on empty, and Tarzi smiled in triumph. Despite his massive wounds, he brought up his pistol, fighting the waves of agony.
He was too slow, much too slow. Stoner snatched out the second Desert Eagle and fired. Fired again and again. Seven big chunks of lead tore into the target, and the gun was empty. The man who talked to God had gone to Paradise, if that’s what they called his particular brand of hell. His body slumped back amidst the broken glassware, and his eyes glazed. The unkillable Mohammed Tarzi was dead. He’d been wrong about all of it. In the unlikely event God had ever offered him protection, he’d changed his mind. He paused for a few moments, studying the bloody corpse, the end of a long road. Yet it wasn’t the end.
“Stoner!”
He swept his gaze across the room. The cop pulled the trigger, but the gun was empty. Stoner lay on the bar, frozen, and a single shot cracked out. The cop staggered, his eyes turning to look for the source of the bullet that had torn into his chest. As his blood drained away onto the floor, his eyes fell on another man who’d been shot, torn apart by bullets. Yet he hadn’t died. Wayne Evers, a man who should have breathed his last when they put three bullets in him. The man they’d left to die fifteen years back in Tora Bora had aimed and fired the shot that took down the cop and saved her life. He looked at Sara, and spoke a single word, just before a spout of blood poured from his mouth.
“Sorry.”
He slumped back. Another corpse to join the others littering the floor, and Sara slowly got to her feet, her face white.
“Stoner, I thought…”
“Yeah, I know what you thought. In the end, he did the right thing.”
“Yes.”
“Is it over?
He paused, knowing he’d missed something. They were all there, either dead, or in the case of Hosseini, wounded. No, he was wrong. Sergeant Hosseini, the man who’d fancied himself as the husband of Kaawa, Greg and Faria’s daughter, was missing. He couldn’t be far away. He looked around the room and glanced up the staircase. The cop was on the balcony, hold
ing his shirt closed with one hand, and his pistol in the other. He aimed down at Stoner, who still hadn’t reloaded his weapons. Archer came out of nowhere from behind him.
Incredibly, he’d been upstairs, lurking in the shadows, waiting for the moment. Stoner realized he’d tracked Tarzi to this place, weighed up the odds, and sneaked up to the second floor. He locked onto the cop’s gun hand, and the dog’s weight dragged Hosseini off balance. Archer let go, and his body rolled down the staircase, tumbling over and over. Halfway down they heard an audible ‘snap.’ When he reached the bottom and collided with a post, the body was still.
He looked at Sara. “Yes, it’s over. We need to get out of here before the place burns down.”
“Burn? It’s not on fire.”
He strolled over to the bar and went behind the counter. Waded through a pool of liquor on the floor and took a cigar from the shelf. Lit the cigar and tossed the match to the floor. The fire caught at once, and flames licked up the wall.
“Whoops, I dropped the match. Yeah, it’s on fire right enough. Sara, would you press the fire alarm for me.”
“What fire alarm?”
“No fire alarm? Too bad, we’ll just shout fire. In case there’s anyone left upstairs, it’ll give em a chance to get out.”
No one emerged. They’d all left when the shooting started. The flames licked higher. It was time to leave. He called Archer to his side, and they went out into the street, heading back to Ma Kelly’s. He stumbled after the first few yards. She put an arm around him to help him along.
“You’ve lost a lot of blood. You should go to the hospital.”
“No hospital, I’ll be okay. The first bullet went straight through, and the second was just a flesh wound, nothing a bit of iodine and TLC won’t cure.”
“TLC?”
“Tender loving care, and I just know someone who’d both tender and loving.”
She chuckled. “You might be lucky. Tell me, why set the brothel alight?”
“They started it. They were going to destroy my place. Serve the bastards right. Besides, it’ll destroy all the evidence.”
“There’s still the other brothel.”
“They’ll have to play by the rules. I think they’ll get the message.”
“Right.”
Ivan was in the bar with Gorgy and the last of his surviving mercs. The Russian helped him to a chair, and Ma tried to fuss over him, but he stopped her.
“All I need is a hand to get upstairs. I have a full medical kit up there. Sara, would you stitch me up?”
“Sure.”
“Ivan, before I go, I want a quick word in private.”
“Sure.”
He came close and listened as Stoner whispered in his ear. Grinned and nodded. “Sure, I can do that. But you’ll owe me, you know that.”
“I’ll pay you back. I always do.”
“Don’t you forget it.”
Gorgy and another man helped him up the staircase, and they rested him gently on the couch. The Russian left, and Sara got to work, cleaning the wounds and applying antiseptic dressings. When she worked on his back, he passed out. When he came to, she was standing over him, watching him.
“What was that all about? With Ivan?”
“Just a business arrangement, nothing special.”
“Huh.” She didn’t believe him, but she didn’t press it, “How do you feel?”
“Like I went three rounds with Mike Tyson.”
“You do look like you went three rounds with Mike Tyson. Is it very bad?”
“Bad enough. I don’t think I can move off this couch.”
“Would you like something for the pain?”
“What painkillers do I have in the medical kit?”
Her gaze was steady, and he didn’t miss the gleam in her eye. “I was thinking about something more effective. You want me to help you into the bedroom?"
He winced, halfway to his feet. “I feel better already.”
Afterward, he lay in semi-slumber; a blissful, relaxed, post-coital state, and the pain had faded a bit. He saw something light outside the window, and he asked her to go look.
“It’s a building across the street, on fire. About the same size as this place, and it’s well alight. I can’t see any sign of the fire brigade.
Does it have a big sign outside, the Inn of Temptation?”
“Why, yes, it does. And there’s a crowd of people outside, watching. They look like…” She looked across at him as comprehension dawned. “Sex workers! That was your rival.”
“Yeah, I guess so. Must have been an accident.”
She gave him a hard look. “An accident, or a business arrangement?”
“Hard to tell.” He’d make sure he thanked Ivan. And now he owed him, “Someone should have told them.”
“Told them what?”
“When you play with fire, you risk getting burned. Come back to bed. We have unfinished business.”
He awoke the next day to the stink of smoke, but it smelled good. It smelled like, victory. She helped him down the stairs, and he walked across to his Wrangler, to make certain none of the debris from the burning building had landed on it. It hadn’t, but a man was sleeping underneath, and he shouted at him to get out. When he emerged, wiping the sleep from his eyes, he recognized a familiar face. Ghulam Samar.
“What the hell are you doing sleeping out here under my Jeep?”
“Sir, I’m sorry, Mr. Stoner.”
“I thought you were staying with Ma. Didn’t she fix you up with a bed inside?”
“She did, but…” He was shamefaced, “The truth is, Sir, I was embarrassed by what was going on in there. Those women, you wouldn’t believe what they were doing…”
“No, you’re right, I can’t imagine it. Sara, shut up.” She put a hand over her mouth to hide the wide grin.
“Sir, I want to work for you. I still need to repay you for saving my life.”
“You’ve already done that, kid. Besides, I don’t need any help.”
“I can fix the GAZ if you give me another chance.”
The GAZ!
He’d almost forgotten. Greg’s ugly as shit Russian four-wheel drive. He worked out how long it’d take to get to the place they’d left it. The amount of time to get back, and if it didn’t start, they’d have to tow it in.
Greg will want it back, despite it being a crappy piece of Russian tin. Probably contributed toward the fall of the Soviet Empire, but what the hell?
He grinned at the boy.
“Did you ever learn to drive?”
“Yes, Sir.”
“From a book?”
“Yes, Sir.”
“That’s good enough for me. Climb into the back. We’re leaving. Sara, you up for a ride in the country?”
“You shouldn’t. The jarring could open your wounds.”
“So you’ll be there to fix them.”
She climbed into the shotgun seat, and he drove away. He had a lot to think about.
Will Greg make a full recovery? Wayne Evers helped us, turned traitor, and at the last, helped us again by saving Sara’s life. Did the right thing and died with his honor intact. Tarzi, a dangerous lunatic who’s dead, but there’ll be others. Islam always manages to throw up a fresh crop of fanatics. And plenty of naïve young men ready to listen to their lies.
Tora Bora. The Black Cave, where we almost died. Never again. Never.
