The Enigma Series Boxed Set

by Tierney James

  “Education makes women think too much.” He glanced from the pictures to the children. “They start to get ideas and think for themselves.”

  Tessa bit her tongue so hard she thought it would bleed. “You are educated. I can tell by your speech.”

  “I am a man.” Massoud waved his men out. “It is getting dark. I will decide your fate before I return.” He pointed at Bonnie and grinned. “Yours has been decided.” A terrified sob escaped her mouth. He dropped Shirin’s drawings in the dirt and stomped on them. “Such a waste of time.”

  “Do you take pleasure in being a monster?” Tessa asked in a serious voice.

  He had been on his way out the door but paused to rub his chin. Standing in the dim light of a candle one of his men left behind, Massoud chuckled. “You will soon know how I take my pleasure.”

  “He’s going to kill you,” Tessa warned.

  “Who?” Massoud challenged.

  “Captain Chase Hunter. He’s coming for me.”

  “I will be ready.”

  “It won’t be enough.” Tessa turned away and sat down next to the girls. “You’ll never see him coming.”

  Massoud shifted his feet then rushed to leave. Tessa heard him giving orders again. She took a small amount of pleasure knowing she’d managed to unnerve the scariest man in Afghanistan. She prayed the threat would come true.

  Chapter 11

  T he children grew tired as the night deepened. Cool breezes flowed down from the mountains and in through the windows and open door. Even though they didn’t complain, Tessa knew they were cold. She had them bunch up together before taking some of the broken furniture to the small wood stove sitting in the middle of the room with a stove pipe straight up through the ceiling. Part of her wished the building would catch on fire so they could avoid what might lay ahead for them. Since the rebels had not searched her bag, Tessa still had a pack of matches she’d gotten at the hotel in Kyrgyzstan to ignite the fire. Some kerosene oil in a lamp made a good accelerant. A man came to the door to check on them but didn’t object to Tessa’s attempt to warm the room. The fire burned hot for a while until the wood crumbled to burning embers.

  Tessa sat down by Shirin with a few sheets of paper the size of large index cards. The young girl sat with bowed head as if knowing her fate would soon destroy any dreams she carried in her heart of being an artist. Tessa handed the sheets to the soon-to-be teen wife along with a dull pencil she’d found on the shelf. Even in the dim light of the candle burning on the floor, she could see the fear in her, creasing the lines on her forehead.

  “I know this is hard, Shirin.” The girl lifted her eyes with such deep sadness Tessa pulled her into her arms and rocked back and forth. “Don’t cry. We’ve got to stay strong, no matter what.” The girl laid her head on Tessa’s shoulder. She patted the girl’s cheek. “I need you to do something for me.”

  “I will try.”

  Tessa handed her the paper and pencil. “I need you to draw a picture of me and Ms. Finley.” Shirin appeared bewildered but agreed. “Then I need you to draw a picture of Massoud, the man in charge. Can you do that?”

  “I will be in trouble if he finds out. It is against Islam, Ms. Melanie. That is why he destroyed my other pictures. I was bad.” The fear in her voice was understandable.

  “I know, Shirin. But Allah has given you a gift to save your little sisters here. Bonnie and I are not Muslim, so maybe Allah will understand that I forced you to do this. We will hide the pictures on the shelf. When someone comes for the helicopter, the soldiers will find it. They will know we are alive and who has taken us. Then we can be rescued.”

  Shirin took the supplies and went to work with enthusiasm. “It won’t take long, Ms. Melanie. I’ll do it for you.”

  Tessa hugged her. “Do it for all of us, Shirin. You are my hero.”

  The girl did not appear to hear the last comment as she hurried to complete the task set before her.

  Cries of anguish reached the women several times. Tessa dared slip to the window to see one of the houses on fire. A family stood in the street crying while a crippled man begged to reason with the men with guns. A gunshot toppled the man to the ground and drove Tessa back to safety.

  The men stationed outside their house spoke in loud voices. Even so, Tessa felt too terrified to try and understand the ruckus going on among them. Intuition told her she and Bonnie were in for a long night. Several times, men peered in through the window or came to the door carrying a rifle.

  After Shirin finished the drawings, Tessa folded them before sticking them into a broken teacup. When she turned to join the others, two men slipped inside. At first they were silent then they pointed at Bonnie and Shirin.

  Tessa froze. She knew what their plans were by just looking at their nervous movements around the room. A hysterical Bonnie pushed herself up off the floor as if by doing so she’d be safe. One of the men no more than twenty years old, grabbed her by the arm then jerked her forward so hard she fell facedown.

  The second man appeared older than Massoud. He motioned for Shirin to stand. She did so with head bowed, but her sobs could be heard over the sniffles of the other little girls who reached up to her. Like a lamb to slaughter, Shirin stepped towards the man who pulled at her head scarf as he dragged her toward the door.

  The man with Bonnie fell on her back with a hyena laugh, closing his hands around her neck.

  “No!” Tessa screamed as her hand went under her robe to extract the switchblade hidden in her jeans’ pocket. The robe parted when her arm came forward. She pushed the button that clicked the blade open. “Stop!” she screamed.

  But they didn’t.

  Shirin flailed, but her actions managed to encourage the aggressive behavior of the older man.

  With a blinding rage, Tessa propelled herself at the back of the man wrestling with Shirin. For one split second, he paused. In that split second, Tessa rammed the knife into the base of his skull, severing his spinal cord.

  As he dropped to the floor, Tessa whirled around to see the man on Bonnie’s back spring to his feet in one swift movement. Before he had a chance to retaliate, Tessa slammed herself into him, her heavier weight throwing him off-balance as he staggered back against the stove. He flung his hand behind him and shrieked as he contacted the red-hot stove. With an unrestrained cry of rage, he propelled back toward her. Tessa jumped to the side and stuck out her foot which caused him to sprawl onto the floor.

  Fury loomed on his face as he crawled to a hunched stance. His ragged breathing lasted a split second before he lunged at Tessa with his full weight, slamming her against the broken table. Somehow she reached the gun hidden in her back pants’ pocket. But the movement caused him to get the upper hand as he slapped her with such force her head snapped back against a shelf. He stepped back to take another swing at her.

  Tessa felt the weapon in her grasp as she struggled to bring it forward. As his fist swung downward she lifted the gun and pulled the trigger three times. The gun dropped out of her hand as the blast startled her into realizing what she’d done. The sound of crying and Bonnie moaning, “Oh my god,” over and over paralyzed Tessa with fear.

  The man appeared to curse her as he felt his stomach and groin where she’d shot him. His screams brought the other men pouring into the house.

  Tessa sucked in her breath at seeing the dead man on the floor with a knife sticking out of his neck. Then, without her turning her head, she shifted her attention back to the younger man pointing down at his groin, screaming. Instead of regretting her actions, the desire to finish him off surfaced in her muddled brain. A great deal of pointing, shouting, and confusion ensued until Massoud strode in with a rifle strapped across his chest.

  Everyone grew quiet while Massoud surveyed the mayhem Tessa created. There were a few quick inquiries of the wounded man. Between the attacker’s sniveling replies, Massoud developed a dark glare resembling a belching volcano. He reached in his pocket then withdrew a thin piece of rope.
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br />   “Did you do this?” Massoud yelled so loud in her face his breath moved her hair. When she trembled, tears squeezed from the corners of her eyes. He lowered his voice. “Did you do this?”

  Tessa whimpered a yes. She could feel her nose run as salty tears ran across her lips.

  Massoud grabbed her hands and tied them before pushing her to the floor.

  Bonnie crawled back to a corner, sucking air with sobs of terror. Shirin ran to her little sister for comfort.

  The younger man pointed at the handgun lying on the floor then bent over in agony.

  After a couple of questions, Massoud nodded then pointed to the gun for another man to fetch it for him.

  “It gives me no pleasure to discipline. Have I not told you this?” He pointed the gun at Tessa as she cowered back against the wall then he turned the gun toward the wounded rebel and pulled the trigger.

  His last cries of pain drowned out the screams of the women and children.

  Massoud handed the gun to one of his men and motioned for the bodies to be removed. “See what you forced me to do? He would have died anyway. I saved him from further misery.”

  Gunfire echoed outside, filling the night with rapid flashes of light. Excited voices yelled orders as some battle took place under the stars. The men ran outside. One of the Taliban was visible just outside the window as he fell back then slid down, out of sight. Sounds of retreat echoed off the mountains until silence covered the tracks of the Taliban.

  The sounds of galloping horses, more voices of men, and the promise of violence returned. By now the women and children were so traumatized their bodies formed balls of self-preservation against the new evil promising to rain down upon them.

  Tessa could hear sounds of men going door to door as if they were on the hunt for the Taliban who scattered from their presence Were they searching for Taliban? They weren’t American soldiers or she would have heard English. She didn’t understand what they were saying and Shirin silently hugged her knees and rocked back and forth. They were getting closer. Finally two men stopped outside their house and entered with caution. Holding their weapons gingerly, they walked back and forth before the children. One of them called out to others in the street. Tessa noticed the children stopped their crying. The men dressed in dark clothing appeared to be more Asian than Afghan by the fold of their eyes and high cheekbones. Were these the men the girls said protected the orphanage from the Taliban?

  In seconds, a well-armed Kyrgyz tribesman wearing a tattered mask walked into the room. There were traces of blood on the dagger in his hand and a rip in his sleeve. He surveyed them from a distance then approached and came to a sudden halt. He stood with his legs apart and his arms crossed his chest. Earflaps moved on his rounded fur hat as he twisted around to examine the surroundings. The mask wrapped his face like an Arabian knight of old. Large holes were cut out for him to see. He stepped toward Tessa. He caught hold of her bindings and gave a hard tug, dragging her to unsteady feet. He examined her hands speckled with blood. He pointed. “Hurt?”

  “No,” she whispered, darkness swirling up around her. The feel of strong hands catching her was the last thing she remembered.

  ~ ~ ~

  Kunar Province – Northeast of Kabul

  Squinting against the midday sun, his loose clothing moving in the wind, reminded him how hot this godforsaken land could be. He peered over the ridge into the valley below. A river snaked through the area known as Death Becomes You, or at least Delta Force called it that, among other things. Captain Hunter knew from experience the river stayed shallow for at least another month then it would dry up until the spring snow melt gushed down from the mountains. Rebels hid here due to the shallow caves dotting the hillsides. Word leaked out Massoud was spotted in the area and he hoped he might return this way. The land, inhospitable to most humans, created a perfect channel of hiding places for one of Afghanistan’s most notorious Taliban leaders.

  The captain knew his own appearance played a part in his ability to blend in with the rebels. There had been a few close calls where American soldiers mistook him for a member of one of the rebel factions. If it weren’t for his obvious Native American looks, he would have been shot by a US sniper long ago. He resembled some of the Uzbeks or Kyrgyz tribesmen. Some of them were friends to the Americans. It would not be wise to kill one of them.

  From his concealed position, he could soak up the raw beauty of Afghanistan. Something about the emptiness bathed him in a peace. Although when the wind roared, it deafened a man to other distractions, and he found himself lost in the rugged landscape. The air smelled clean. No garbage or human waste here, just the occasional whiff of dust or wild goat. Even the emptiness filled the captain with a sense of belonging.

  He sat so still, if someone had come upon him he would have blended with the rock formations around him. The thought of being invisible pleased him. The practice had begun as a child in China with his missionary parents. Avoiding bullies in the villages or the Red Guard became a survival skill. Even when his parents would pack him off to be with his diplomat grandfather for several months every year, he learned to stay out of the way. Hiding became a game to frighten aids or other staff left to care for him. As he grew older and bigger, he had to learn new tricks to become invisible. He’d learned much this way; a gift of languages, secrets of powerful men, how to charm a woman and, most important, how to make sure she never forgot you.

  But his favorite part had always been being alone to think or to read. There were many times, growing up in the villages of China, that his best friend was a book. His grandfather never tired of forcing the boy to learn, to think about the world around him. Whether it was in Honduras or Zimbabwe, everything became an educational experience. The boy would be made to think and evaluate at the end of each day for his grandfather.

  The time to think and evaluate again lay before him.

  His eyes were the only thing which moved. They fell on the man propped against a rock next to him, asleep. With his paler skin, dark hair, and beard, Zoric could pass for a Taliban instead of a Serbian. He wore a tattered turban and some loose clothing covered by a brown suede vest. His wiry body remained lean well into his forties. His covered arms hid the colorful tattoos trailing down his forearms. The captain and Zoric had often talked about the designs.

  “It’s no wonder people are terrified of you, Zoric. That ink looks like the apocalypse is playing out on your arms.”

  Zoric would shrug, followed by a rude comment about the Chinese characters on Chase’s upper arms. “I am not as big as you, my friend. I need to make an immediate impression.”

  “Trust me when I say the tat of an opened artery will do it.”

  Chase and the Serb shared a shadowy past Enigma dared not approach. In some circles, Zoric was known as the Vampire because of his hollow gaze, narrow face, and bloodshot eyes. Most people at Enigma could not imagine him being an accomplished artist before the war between the Serbs and the Bosnians. When a bomb killed his family, a monster evolved inside him. He often said drinking the blood of his enemy would give him great pleasure.

  He continued to be at his best friend’s side to do the work of Enigma.

  “How did you feel when you saw her again?” Zoric mumbled.

  “Uncomfortable.”

  “Did you tell her how you felt?”

  For the first time in over an hour, Chase turned his head toward the Serb. “I don’t feel anything. She’s an Enigma agent. Married. Poison.”

  Zoric waited before venturing into more conversation. “Are you ever going to tell her?”

  “Shut the hell up.” The words sounded like a rehearsed chant, one he’d said many times. Calm, controlled, and indifferent formed Captain Chase Hunter’s persona. “Give it a rest, will ya?”

  “I’m in love with her,” Zoric declared without emotion.

  “Good for you. Better make your will out because she’s a death sentence waiting to happen. I would have thought you knew that by now,” C
hase’s voice whispered, hoping his voice would not carry on the wind. He dropped his fist low enough to punch it into the ribs of the Serb.

  A grin toyed with Zoric’s thin lips. “Whether you know it or not, my friend, Tessa Scott has managed to be the one who has ever come close to making you show emotion. When she walks into a room you morph into a human.” He smothered a chuckle with the back of his hand. “I know this irritates you for me to say it. Is it her innocent view of the world that sets you off-balance or that she is easy on the eyes?”

  Chase pretended he didn’t want her to do field work because she was a civilian. Several members of the team, even Samantha, mentioned how much harder he made it on her to be successful. Keeping her from field work guaranteed she remained safe and be waiting for him each time he returned home.

  “She’s…” Zoric continued.

  “Married.” Chase’s voice grew cold.

  For a few seconds Zoric pretended to be deep in thought. “I can fix this problem. It would be child’s play to make the husband have an accident. Then you could swoop in to be the hero.” He adjusted his position to be more comfortable. “I think she likes it when you save her.”

  “If I had known you were going to be a gossipy old woman, I would never have brought you along.” Chase lifted a pair of binoculars to hint the conversation had ended. “Interesting. Looks like a Kyrgyz tribesman.”

  Zoric rolled over onto his knees before lifting his own binoculars. “Kind of far from home.”

  They both continued to watch the Kyrgyz man walk his horse along the bank of the river.

  “Not in any hurry,” Zoric observed. “What’s he carrying tied to the horse?”

  Both men continued to peer through their binoculars for another ten minutes when the horseman stopped to pull up a canteen. He unscrewed the top before twisting around to offer water to someone.

  “Whoever it is, they’re in bad shape. See the blood on the guy’s leg?” Chase commented with interest. “Someone beat the crap out of him, too.” He adjusted the binoculars. “Zoric?”