One Child

by Jeff Buick

  The lone remaining Talib tried to react to Bobby's fire, but Andrew had him in his sights and opened up with his M-4. Half a magazine riddled the man's body and he dropped to the roof. Andrew kept running until he reached the wall and peered over. All five Taliban were dead. He ensured the area was secure and waved for Bobby and Russell. They gathered at the gruesome site.

  "What the fuck kind of cover fire was that?" Andrew asked. "I almost got my ass shot off."

  "Fuckin' thing jammed," Bobby said, lifting up the M-4.

  "How many bullets in your mag?" Andrew asked.

  "Twenty-eight. Never put thirty. Things jam if you load them to the max." He pulled the clip and checked the bullets. They were fine. He pushed another magazine into the gun, aimed it away from them and pulled the trigger. It fired three shots in rapid succession. "Now it works. What a piece of shit."

  "You get that from the new shipment that came in the other day?"

  "Yeah. And this ain't the first time it jammed. Once on the firing range yesterday."

  "Get another one."

  "No shit."

  "Hey," Andrew said as they gathered around the detonator. "Nice shooting with the pistol."

  "Thanks."

  They checked out the remote detonator and the street below. The vantage point from where the insurgents were stationed was a major intersection with a small square, a well, some trees and a few wooden benches. Andrew called it in on the radio. They were going to blow an IED. They gave a description of the square and any troops nearby melted back into the adjoining streets. When they were all clear, Bobby pushed the detonator.

  The explosion ripped apart the square, sending fragments of lethal shrapnel in a 360-degree arc. The house they were sitting on shook and threatened to collapse. The smoke cleared, revealing a three-meter deep crater. Surrounding buildings were scarred with jagged pieces of smoking-hot metal. The collateral damage from the bomb, if set off when troops were gathered in the square, would have been devastating.

  "Whooee," Bobby yelled. "Holy shit, that was fuckin' amazing."

  "You get that on film?" Andrew asked.

  "Oh, yeah." Russell was shaking with adrenalin. "I got it." He sat on the roof, his camera in his lap.

  Andrew broke into a wide grin. "Yeah, that was fun."

  Andrew stomped on the remote and ground it into the baked mud. "Let's get back down to the street."

  They retraced their steps to the opening in the roof they had come up through. The woman was still sitting against the wall, her children tucked tight to her. There was something else in her eyes now. Fear. There was no mistaking it. The same emotion showed in her children's eyes. Russell tried to imagine what it was like, cowering in your house while armed soldiers from the other side of the world kicked in your door. Nowhere to go that was any safer, and hoping - praying—that it would all simply stop. Knowing that it wouldn't.

  He tried to imagine. But he couldn't.

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  Chapter

  60

  Day 28 - 8.23.10 - Morning News

  Sheremetyevo II Airport, Moscow

  The flight from Heathrow arrived twenty minutes early, putting Alexi in Moscow a few minutes before six on Monday morning. On a commercial flight, New York to Moscow in eighteen hours was fast. It was morning and he had slept all the way from London. He was rested and ready to begin the search for Carson Grant.

  He powered up his cell phone and headed directly for the main entrance, a small carry-on bag in his hand. Traveling without checked luggage was the key to catching last minute flights and making tight connections. He slipped into the back of a cab and asked for the Tverskaya Ulitsa district. There would be coffee shops open and catering to the Monday morning crowds in the upscale shopping and business district. He started when his cell phone rang at such an early hour. The number was prefixed with a 212 area code, which was even more unexpected. New York.

  "Is this Alexi Androv?" the voice asked.

  "It is."

  "William Fleming."

  "Good morning, Mr. Fleming," Androv said politely.

  "It's ten at night over here," Fleming shot back at him. "But you're in Moscow and that gives you one day less to find Carson Grant."

  "I'm working on it," Alexi said. His tone was not quite as civil.

  "I'm disappointed. Trey recommended you. He said you were reliable."

  Alexi was quickly losing his cool. "I said that I would take care of it."

  A few seconds of static swept across the line, then Fleming's voice was back. "Your word is of very little value to me right now. I expect you to be wrapped up in Moscow before the 25th."

  "Or what?" Alexi asked. He was sick of the condescending tone in Fleming's voice. He was baiting the billionaire for a response.

  "Or nothing," Fleming said after a moment's silence. "No paycheck. No further work. You get nothing."

  The slight pause before Fleming's response spoke louder than the words. Fleming was not saying what he was thinking. Not in the least. Alexi stared out the window at the city of his birth. A city stripped of its relevance by Peter the Great in the seventeenth century when he declared St. Petersburg the Russian capital. Two hundred years passed before Moscow lived up to its pedigree and was again the center of state. Patience and guile were second nature to Muscovites. Attempting to deceive a Russian was dangerous. And stupid. As Alexi saw it there were two ways to play this. One was to be polite and pretend he didn't understand what was going on in the man's mind. The other was to be blunt. The choice was easy.

  Alexi stopped the cab in front of a favorite bistro, paid the driver and stood on the sidewalk. "Threatening me is extremely foolish," he said quietly. "If I think for one moment that you've hired someone to kill me, I'll be through your security and in your bedroom while you're sleeping. I am not the kind of person you ever - ever - want to threaten."

  A long silence filled the line. Finally, Fleming said, "Find Carson Grant and kill him." The line clicked over to a dial tone.

  Alexi shoved the phone back in its leather case. Fleming didn't bother him. Being stiffed on the quarter million dollar fee did. He had two days to find the American. Not much time, but he was on his own turf now. He knew the city, and his well-placed contacts could find almost anything or anyone, including Carson Grant. He would take great pleasure in killing him, and, if necessary, William Fleming.

  He found a nice table facing the streetscape and ordered an espresso.

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  Chapter

  61

  Kaneh Gerdab, Afghanistan

  One hour until sunrise. Soon, the hell would be over.

  Russell sat with his back against the cool metal of the Stryker. Above him, thick clouds obscured the moon and left the attack force in an inky blackness that limited vision to less than three meters. It was like being in a closet, where fear was the only thing more pressing than the dark.

  They had pushed the Taliban out of Kaneh Gerdab at about eight o'clock. Far too late to attempt the trip back to Kandahar city or the FOB. They were stuck outside the wire for the night. Every soldier's worst dream.

  The blackness prevented the Taliban from targeting the ring of vehicles with their artillery and mortars and it restricted their movements on foot and in their ratty Toyotas. But it also provided them with the ultimate cover. Without their night vision goggles on, it was impossible for the troops to see anything coming at them. The desert night was a scary place even without men with guns running around. Vipers, rats, scorpions. Camel spiders were the worst, with bites that had the potential to be fatal.


  "You get any sleep?" Andrew asked as he sidled up next to Russell.

  "None. You?"

  Andrew laughed, the sound a disembodied chortle coming out of the blackness. "Nobody ever sleeps out here. We get our turn, but it never happens. You lie there staring at the black, wondering if one of them is five meters from you with a knife. It's a bit unnerving."

  "Like you have to tell me," Russell said. "I'm out here hoping that something doesn't crawl in my pants and bite my dick."

  "Oh, man, that would be bad. If one of those fuckers bites your bad boy, it'd probably fall off."

  "I've spent time in some shitty places and I've been scared, but this is the worst. Every second is total stress. I can't even start to tell you how wound up I am," Russell said.

  "It'll be over soon," Andrew said. "Look at the sky to the east."

  Russell stood up so he could see over the Stryker. The sky was lightening, a crescent of pale yellow pushing into the black palette. Soon, the snakes and bugs would be crawling back into their holes. The Taliban were dug into the hills to the west and the troops' directive was to hold the town, not chase the bad guys into their lair. That was the sort of thinking that got people killed.

  "What now?" Russell asked.

  "We're heading back to the FOB. But we need to stop in Kandahar to pick up some medical supplies."

  "Is everyone heading back?" Russell asked.

  "Nope," Andrew said. He leaned against the Stryker and watched the sun crest the eastern horizon. Light skimmed the sky and visibility increased until an ambush was impossible. The tension melted out of his shoulders and his grip loosened on his gun. "Most of the guys are here for another night or two until the village council gets control of the town."

  "I'm glad we're leaving."

  "Yeah, me too. About half the guys will be heading out, but most of them are rolling right back to base. Us and two Canadian LAVs are headed into Kandahar."

  "That's not much of a presence. Are we okay with only three vehicles?" Russell asked.

  "Sure. There are a few Taliban running around the city, but we control it. Once we have the medical supplies loaded, we'll be on Route Fosters to the FOB. We should be in easily before dark.

  "Good. I don't want to spend another night out here."

  "No shit."

  Andrew shuffled off to talk over the route into Kandahar with his driver and the two Canadian LAV commanders. Russell stretched and walked around the armored vehicle a couple times to get his blood flowing. Surrounding him, in a huge circle, was the entire strike force, the armored vehicles and tanks on the exterior and the soft-skinned trucks on the inside. The area was active - men moving about having breakfast and drinking coffee - everyone alert, knowing they were inside enemy territory.

  Russell watched them, wondering if anyone would die today. Young men and women stuck in an insanity you had to see to believe. Back home, parents and loved ones praying for their safe return. He tried to describe it in his reports. He knew it didn't work. Understanding the intensity of Afghanistan, or Iraq, or Somalia, required feet on the ground. Sleeping overnight surrounded by armed insurgents and camel spiders. Busting into mud houses not knowing if a woman and her children were inside, or an automatic weapon aimed at the door. Driving on a road that could erupt any second with enough force to destroy a tank. Understanding the reality required being here with the troops.

  For most people that would never happen. He wasn't sure if that was fortunate or unfortunate.

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  Chapter

  62

  Kandahar, Afghanistan

  Tabraiz sat in the back of the taxi with dark sunglasses and a pakol hat. His pashmina scarf was pulled up on his neck and covered part of his face. The last thing he needed was for a member of the Afghan National Police to spot him. He was probably being overly cautious - Kandahar city was bustling and the police had a multitude of other problems to deal with. A man in town to buy a young girl wouldn't be at the top of their list.

  Still, Kunar, his informant inside the police, had warned him that his section commander was on the lookout and had other officers watching as well. They knew Tabraiz was coming to Kandahar to pick up a young girl and take her to Pakistan, but they didn't know when. If he could keep a low profile for the next four or five hours, he would have Halima and be gone. Out of Kandahar. Out of Afghanistan. Never to return.

  The taxi driver slowed as he entered the Shakpur Darwaza Chowk-e and stopped next to a teashop. He jumped from the car and entered the ornately decorated doorway, reappearing a minute later with two steaming cups of chai siaa and fresh naan. He delivered the tea and bread to his passenger, then piled back into the driver's seat and pulled away from the curb. They drove for about five minutes in silence.

  "Another three blocks, then turn left," Tabraiz said as they reached an intersection.

  The man followed the order. They were on the last road on the southernmost edge of the city, with single-story mud buildings to the right and desert to their left. Tabraiz ordered the man to stop, and got out carrying his tea. He walked half a block in a westerly direction and waited until a car pulled around the corner and stopped. A swarthy man dressed in khakis and a baggy T-shirt stepped out of the back seat and walked toward Tabraiz.

  "Are you ready for tonight?" Tabraiz asked when they were standing opposite each other.

  "Yes. I have two other men. Both trustworthy, and good shots."

  "I don't want any shooting unless it is absolutely necessary," Tabraiz cautioned. He sipped the tea with a slight slurping noise. "You're for backup only. In case something goes wrong."

  "We still get paid, even if everything is okay?" the man asked. He appeared worried about that.

  "Yes, of course." Tabraiz dug in his pocket and handed the man a wad of bills. "This is half of what we agreed on. The other half tonight."

  "Thank you, Tabraiz Khan," the man said, taking the money a bit too quickly.

  Tabraiz ignored the social faux pas and said, "Let's walk."

  The two men left the road and walked south toward the crest of a small rise. They reached the top of the hill and both men took in the lay of the land. Behind them was Kandahar and stretching out in front of them was a vast expanse of sand and rock, punctuated on occasion by scrub brush. A hundred meters down the gently rolling slope was a narrow valley that sliced through the barren land. Between them and the valley, about eighty meters down the slope, was an outcropping of rocks.

  "I will be standing there, midway between the rocks and the edge of the valley. The girl and her father will likely come from the street where my taxi is parked. They will walk by this spot where you and I are standing."

  The man nodded his understanding. Tabraiz was arranging the meet so that if the police showed up, he could disappear behind the rocks or into the valley, depending on which direction they approached from. The city was only a hundred meters to the north, but out of sight. That eliminated the possibility of the police sneaking up on them from behind the buildings, yet put the maze of narrow streets close enough for Tabraiz to meld into if necessary. The meeting spot was well chosen.

  "You should position yourselves behind the rocks," Tabraiz said. "If the police do show up, it won't matter which direction they come from. If they come from the top of the hill, you can slide over the rocks for protection. If they attempt to flank us, which is more likely, then you're already out of sight."

  The man surveyed the land. Tabraiz was correct - the police would be too exposed if they came straight down the hill from the city. They would flank the situation from the east. If he and his men were behind the rocks they would be well protected.

  "Agreed," he said. "We'll position ourselves behind the rocks."

&
nbsp; "Good. Make sure they know not to shoot unless they are being shot at."

  "Not unless we are threatened," he agreed.

  "More than threatened," Tabraiz snapped. "Shot at. You do not fire your weapons unless you are shot at."

  "I understand. We will not fire."

  "That's all for now. Be here tonight at eight o'clock. The father and his daughter will be here about fifteen minutes after that."

  They walked back to the road that skirted the edge of the city and shook hands. The man returned to his car, started the motor, ground the gears and sped off, a plume of dust rising behind the car. He turned a corner and headed back into the city.

  Tabraiz stood in the middle of the deserted road, the afternoon sun baking his face and arms. This was it. The place where Halima would leave her world and move on to a much darker, more dangerous one. This was the end of her life as she knew it. He could care less. To him, she was fifty-five thousand US dollars after expenses. Nothing more, nothing less.

  Business was business.

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  Chapter

  63

  Moscow, Russia

  Three in the afternoon on Monday, August 23rd, and Julie was no closer to gaining access to the intricate series of tunnels under the roads and parks near Luzhniki Stadium. She was beginning to panic.