The one-eyed Taliban encouraged his fighters to take a chance and two of them were picked off in short order. Massoud, despite having only one eye, soon realized they were being held down by three Kyrgyz. He yelled out the information causing a false sense of courage to surge as they began taking chances and closed in on the tribesmen.
~ ~ ~
Each Kyrgyz would reload a weapon, alternating with another that held the Taliban in place. The sight of the Taliban venturing out into the open suggested they were about to be overwhelmed. In one last effort, the Kyrgyz jumped up, unloading their weapons as the Taliban rushed forward. The Taliban were soon mowed down, sacrificed to draw the tribesmen out into the open.
Enemy guns stopped momentarily as if they might be regrouping. The Kyrgyz took the lull as an opportunity to charge Massoud’s cover. Massoud’s remaining six men rose up with startled expressions as the tribesmen jumped off rocks into their midst, knives drawn in one hand, pistols in the other. The Taliban fired, missed then threw their decrepit weapons aside to attack. It was two on one now with two of the rebels knocking Toiluk to the ground as he continued to fight. Akbar fought on as well. Massoud shoved one of his men forward, edging his way closer to the masked Kyrgyz.
Darya remained on his feet, wheeling his knife that managed to connect with one man’s throat, spewing blood across Darya’s chest. Another Taliban took his place, ramming his head into Darya’s body. The force slammed him back onto his butt. He rolled as the man fired his gun and missed then took aim again. As Darya crabbed crawled backwards, the man jerked forward and pitched facedown into the dirt, displaying a gunshot wound in his back.
Two unexpected Kyrgyz from his village jumped into the fray. Two other unfamiliar men joined them in the fighting. Darya didn’t have time to identify who they were or if they were Afghans but felt grateful for reinforcements. The bigger of the two leveled his weapon at the enemy, ready to sink his blade into the chest of Toiluk.
Now the Taliban were evenly matched, but suffered injuries. One tried to jump onto a rock, missed, and fell over the side of the ridge into the churning waters below. They continued to fight until the new Kyrgyz emptied their guns into their bodies.
Darya whirled around, searching for Massoud. Once again, he had escaped, leaving only a dust cloud to track him by.
He met the gaze of the large man who didn’t look so different from him, but from his ability to fight, he must be Special Forces. “Horse!”
The stranger pointed toward where they’d left the animals. Darya sprinted over rocks toward the untethered horses. He jumped onto the back of the smallest one then took out after Massoud, not knowing whether the Taliban leader had any weapons that might bring him down. Beast and man became one as he followed the dust trail. The hard beat of his horse’s hooves almost made Darya miss the sound of another up ahead. He rounded a bend to see Massoud sneaking worried glances over his shoulder. The one-eyed man’s horse slowed through a narrow, rocky passage filled with rock indentions, big enough for a man to hide and ambush an unsuspecting traveler.
Darya slid off his horse then scampered up the hillside, knowing from earlier trips, the trail curved back toward where he could intersect the one-eyed leader. As he came up over the boulder next to the trail, Massoud eased by on his horse. Darya jumped into him, slamming him, gasping, to the ground.
As Massoud attempted to stand, Darya gave into temptation and punched him in the stomach, flattening him to the ground once again. Darya grabbed him up once more by the throat as if he were a ragdoll and squeezed so hard Massoud’s one good eye bulged. As his ferocious struggles slowed, Darya released him only to add another blow to the cheek and dropped him.
“Get it over with, you worthless pile of yak dung.” Massoud spit blood onto the ground.
Darya reached down and yanked him to his feet then slammed him against a boulder. He didn’t let the one-eyed man bait him into speaking. He’d won. The horse Massoud stolen from Abdul stood nearby. It wouldn’t be difficult now taking one of the most wanted men in Afghanistan back to Kabul.
~ ~ ~
Chase watched the tribesmen clean up their handiwork. After digging through their pockets and saddlebags, he noticed they secured a few trophies as well as boots that seemed to have fewer holes than the ones they wore. The Kyrgyz worked in silence as if they were cleaning up a pile of garbage. Soon no trace of the fight existed. Even the bullet casing had been retrieved.
“Bullet casings?” Zoric asked. “What the hell would they want with those?”
Chase shrugged. “I’m guessing they don’t want anyone to know they were here. Something I’d do. These guys fight like some of my Delta Force buddies, SEALS, maybe. Look at them. They’re always scanning. Always ready.”
“Ask them about the big Kyrgyz who took out on the horse. He seems a little out of place next to these guys. He’s not as big as you but compared to these men he’s a giant,” Zoric observed.
“The man who left, who is he?” Chase wiped his forehead with his sleeve.
They frowned at him as if they didn’t understand his Pashto.
“The women and children,” he said, pointing at Toiluk who had bent down to pick up his knife. “Government woman. Where is she?”
He cocked his head to listen to the men he brought along and filled Toiluk in on the last couple of days including the rescue of the khan’s son, Abdul.
“The government woman? Where is she?” Chase repeated with impatience.
Toiluk left and returned with his horse. Chase waited, rooted in the same spot, hands slightly out from his side, a nine millimeter in one hand and an M16 in the other.
“My friend returns. Talk to him.” Toiluk spoke the words slowly in Pashto.
Zoric returned his 44 Magnum to its holster then closed his switchblade. “These guys don’t say much, Chase. But I think they know plenty.”
“We’ll soon find out.” A rider approached leading the one-eyed Taliban on another horse.
Toiluk assisted the returning men with the horses. From the Kyrgyz’s size, Chase speculated he must be the man in the picture with Tessa the khan flaunted to him. The man stood right at six foot, broad shouldered and more muscled than the other Kyrgyz. He couldn’t explain why he impressed him as being a threat. A brown fur hat with ear flaps tied up on the top, a ragged mask covering part of his face, black clothing and a wool vest couldn’t hide the fact this man was more than a tribesman from the Wakhan Valley.
Chase cut his eyes to Massoud who lifted his gaze resembling apathy more than fear.
He called out to them. “These barbarians plan to kill me.”
Although he was slumped over, beaten and bloody and unable to do anything about his present predicament, Chase knew better than to underestimate the Taliban leader.
Massoud spat blood on the ground. “Who are you?”
The other man slid off his horse then turned to land a blow to the Taliban’s leg. The man howled and the horse shied away, but Toiluk’s firm grip on the bridle kept it in place.
Chase moved toward them with determination, careful not to surprise the big Kyrgyz. He and Massoud locked glares like two male markhors, ready to do battle. “Captain Chase Hunter.” He forced his voice to go flat, his Pashto void of any emotion or respect. “And you are?”
“He is a butcher,” Massoud hissed, earning another blow to his leg. “He moves about these mountains like a demon then slits the throats of innocent women and children.”
With those words, the big Kyrgyz reached up to drag the one-eyed rebel off his horse then tossed him into a dead spiny bush. In one step, he reached the man, caught him by the ankle then pulled him flat on his back where he hit his head. He kicked some rocks in the Taliban’s face then stormed off.
“Bit of a hothead.” Zoric arched an eyebrow. “That Kyrgyz is in charge here. Make nice, Chase, if we plan to find Tessa.”
Chase squatted down next to Massoud, who had managed to sit up. He was surprised at the man’s small size, consid
ering his big reputation. The American military had underestimated the man’s cunning.
“American dogs.” Massoud grinned.
Chase’s gaze remained fixed on the Taliban rebel, his lips pooched out in contemplation. His head cocked to the left. When Massoud squirmed under the examination, Chase stood up to tower over the man. As if in slow motion, he raised his foot then planted it on Massoud’s chest, forcing the rebel back to the ground. As the pressure increased, Massoud gasped for breath.
“This American dog,” Chase growled, “is going to rip you apart. You killed some good men in that helicopter. They were on a rescue mission not a threat to the Taliban. If I find out you harmed one hair on any of those kids or American women, I will carve you up piece by piece. Then I will leave a trail of your body parts for any other Taliban to find as my warning. Are we clear?”
Massoud shoved at the foot on his chest. Chase reached down to yank him to his feet. As he wheezed, Chase turned him around to secure his hands behind his back.
“You and that Kyrgyz devil they call Darya are cut from the same filthy rag. I can’t ride like this,” Massoud complained. “Do you want me to fall?”
Chase leaned in to his ear. “Yes.”
He turned to see Darya had slipped up behind him. Making a mental note of this ability caused Chase to speculate further about the Kyrgyz man. The realization it would be a mistake to underestimate him put Chase on guard.
When Chase reached inside his jacket pocket, the other Kyrgyz cocked their weapons then pointed them at him. He froze his hand as he evaluated the group.
Massoud laughed. “I told you they were animals. You cannot trust them.” He now spoke in English. “Let me go and I will go for help. I hate these sons of yaks.”
“Easy,” Zoric whispered to his friend. “Nice and easy.”
In Pashto, Chase explained what he wanted to do. The big Kyrgyz called Darya did not point a weapon at his chest but continued to glare at him through the large holes of his tattered mask.
“I want to show you a picture.”
Darya looked over at his buddies then back to Chase before raising his chin, indicating he should proceed.
Careful not to move too fast and startle the men, Chase withdrew the government ID photo of Bonnie Finley. One of the guys on the helicopter who had dropped them off to continue the hunt for the State Department representative had given it to him. He kept the personal one of Tessa inside his vest so not to tip his hand. The thought of a jealous tribesman knocking out any competition to secure the release of his new bride was not a pleasant one.
Chase offered the picture to Darya, but he didn’t take it. Toiluk walked up and snatched it from Chase then held it in front of the other man.
Darya stuck out his thick lips. His narrowed scowl lifted to Chase then ran over him like a steamroller.
“Bonnie Finley. Works for the Americans. They want her back. The khan said you had her.” Chase managed to get the whole thing out in Pashto. He needed to practice the language more. It had been a while since he’d used it this much. “Bonnie Finley,” he repeated.
Darya waved off Toiluk.
“We take you to her.” Toiluk spoke void of emotion. “Go now.”
Everyone turned to go to their horses except Darya and Chase. They stood facing each other without a word, evaluating the next move and each other.
Zoric called out. “Chase, let’s go.” He led a horse to him.
Chase took the bridle without taking his focus off of the dangerous Kyrgyz leader.
“Can he ride enough to keep up?” Darya spoke to the two men who had tagged along with Chase and Zoric from the summer camp.
Chase swung up into the saddle and pulled on the reins. He didn’t wait for the men to answer. “I’m an American Indian. I can ride.”
Darya continued to evaluate the American and smirked as if he planned to find out for himself.
Although he expected to be tested by the Kyrgyz leader, nothing out of the ordinary occurred. The group moved across an open area at a rather smooth trot, with Darya leading the horse which carried Massoud. In spite of the Taliban’s earlier concern he didn’t struggle with riding hands free. Chase guessed him to be an excellent Buzkashi player by the way he leaned in the saddle from time to time. There were no further complaints from him while they rode.
A small village materialized on the horizon. The horses picked up speed as they grew closer. When the mud huts were less than a hundred yards away, Darya threw the reins of Massoud’s horse to Toiluk then kicked his horse’s sides.
“What’s got into him?” Zoric snarled. A group of people came out to the edge of the village.
Chase kicked his horse, too, as did Zoric. In moments they were close enough to see two women, a group of children, and another Kyrgyz, standing guard. The Kyrgyz leader rode like poetry in motion.
Even before the horse came to a complete stop, Darya threw his leg over the saddle and jumped to the ground. Chase managed to snap a picture of him with his phone while everyone was cheering the leader’s arrival.
He then turned his attention back to the women and children. Darya took long strides toward them as if determined to greet them with some kind of victory. Shocked to see the shorter woman run toward the tribesman, he watched her white head scarf blow to the ground as she reached him. Her blonde hair had been braided into two pigtails but curls escaped near the crown of her head.
With little effort, Darya caught her up in his arms in a bear hug and swung her around in a circle. As her feet touched the ground again, she frantically opened his shirt and ran her hands over his skin. The leader grabbed her hands and said something in a low, soothing tone. His arm went around her waist and she fell against him. As Chase and Zoric rode up, Darya leveled a warning glare at them.
The laughter of children followed as they ran toward the woman and Kyrgyz. He scooped the littlest one up in his arms. She hugged his neck so tight the man faked a choke. Several other little girls encircled him, crowding close. He patted them all on the head. The oldest of the children held back to walk alongside a young man not much older than her. Their faces reflected happiness at the reunion until Darya held out his arm toward her. She fell into his embrace, resting her head on his shoulder.
Chase sent their coordinates for a helicopter pickup. Next he sent the picture of the Kyrgyz leader through the handheld computer to the director at Enigma. His phone, part cell part radio, vibrated in his hand a few short minutes later. He stared at the screen then lifted his attention to stare at Darya who glared back at him. Zoric took the phone from him and stared at the info beneath the photo Enigma sent.
“I’d say, instead of one prisoner, we might be taking two.” Zoric shifted his gaze back to Darya.
Without responding, Chase dismounted and walked toward the group. He focused on Tessa who now beamed a smile down at the children. She lifted her gaze to him and stumbled backward.
The confusion he experienced caught him off guard. Why doesn’t she run to me? She’s scared out of her wits. Something is wrong with her. Any other time she would be smothering him with her gratefulness and insults at waiting so long for rescue.
Chase brushed past Bonnie, as Tessa turned and ran.
“Tessa!” he yelled as he continued marching toward her.
She stopped and turned around, her brow furrowed.
Chase halted and extended his hand. This time his voice grew quiet. “Tessa.”
Darya stepped in front of her. His arms crossed on his chest, his feet separated in a defiant stance.
Tessa placed her hands on his arms to peek around his body. “You know me?”
“Know you?” Chase grabbed the picture from his pocket. In it, she stood with him and the President of the United States. He extended his hand, not quite sure what to make of her confusion. “Here.”
She stepped around Darya and reached for the picture.
“Tessa, you and I…” He shifted his momentary focus to Darya who had taken on a murd
erous expression. “We are good friends. We work together.” He pointed to Zoric. “It’s Zoric. Don’t you remember us?”
“Do you know these men, Tessa?” Darya spoke to her in Pashto.
Tessa examined the picture then Chase. She then turned to Darya, blinking rapidly. “No. I’ve never seen them before.”
“They know you.” Chase took note of the irritation in Darya’s voice. “Do not lie to me,” he growled. “You said someone would be looking for you. Is this the man?”
“This picture says I do. I don’t remember. Please, Darya.” She squeezed his arm. “Maybe they can help us with the girls. That’s all I care about now.”
Chase sidestepped Darya to face her head on. Troubled she could speak Pashto like a native, he decided to confront the man. “What the hell have you done to her?” He spoke in English. Even if the man couldn’t understand the meaning he would recognize the tone. Chase reached to take Tessa. Darya shoved his hand aside as he put his body between them.
“Tessa,” Chase said with as much calm as he could to reassure her, “I am here to take you home. I’ve sent for helicopters. By tonight, maybe tomorrow, you can be sleeping in a bed, have some hot food, take a shower, and do all the things you love to do. I’ll even get a call in to your family.”
Tessa stepped up beside Darya and let her gaze ping-pong between Zoric and Chase. “My family?”
“We are her family now,” Darya said in English. “Arzo!” The littlest girl came running to him. He lifted her up then passed her to Tessa. “Tell him, Tessa.”
Her lips quivered. “I will always come for you,” Tessa recited.
“Yes.” Chase took a deep breath. “I told you that a long time ago. No matter where you are or what trouble finds you, I’ll always come for you. A promise I intend to keep.” He focused on Darya for a second before switching back to Tessa. “What have they done to you, Tessa?”
Bonnie Finley walked up, leading another girl by the hand. Her disgusted tone drew Chase’s attention. “Well if it isn’t the mighty Captain Hunter. I take it you’re the cavalry. It’s about damn time.” She pointed toward Darya. “In his defense, he kept the Taliban from making us their hostages. Heaven only knows how that would have ended. He’s treated us well, protected the children, and was trying to get us back to Kabul.” She sent a mocking smirk to Tessa. Chase caught the condescension. “Tessa got a bump on the head when the Taliban came in. I guess with all the things going on she managed to get amnesia.” Bonnie spoke to herself. “I should be so lucky.” She took a deep breath. “As you can see, our fearless leader”—she raised an eyebrow at Darya—“has taken quite a liking to Melanie or Tessa or whoever she is and thinks he has some claim on her.” Darya grabbed Tessa’s hand and pulled her after him. “Done talking.”
The Enigma Series Boxed Set Page 91
