Gray Genesis

by Alan McDermott

  ‘Our father, who art in heaven, hallowed be thy name…’

  Gray found himself mumbling along to the Lord’s prayer, but all the while a picture of Josh’s wife, Karen, stuck in his head. She would never know the truth about her husband’s death, that he was sure of. The official line would be that he was killed in action, a quick end and his body unrecoverable. Telling her the truth would just torture her, just as it was doing right now to him.

  He was jerked out of his thoughts as a bugler played the Last Post, and his eyes were watering by the time the last chord echoed around the camp.

  Captain Russell saluted the coffins, then turned smartly and dismissed the men. Each in turn went over to the wooden boxes and said their own words before they solemnly walked away, carrying the guilt of the living.

  When Gray had said his final goodbyes, Balmer approached him.

  ‘Thanks for coming,’ Gray said. ‘I appreciate it. We all do.’

  ‘I’d say any time, but I hope we never have to do this again.’

  It wasn’t something Gray wanted to repeat, either.

  ‘You think Dagher’s virus had anything to do with this?’ Gray asked in order to break an awkward silence.

  ‘Too soon, I think. But in the coming weeks we can all expect to get acquainted with their super-warriors. Interesting times ahead.’

  Gray clapped Balmer on the arm. ‘Yeah, well, you be lucky out there.’ He walked away, all of a sudden desperate to get back to his dreams.

  Chapter 16

  A lone cloud hung in the sky, a white cirrus island in a cobalt sea. It passed out of sight as the SUV carrying Abdul al-Hussain left the highway and headed into the desert along a seldom used dirt track. A few minutes later it arrived at the wadi where, a week earlier, the Dagher woman had given her first demonstration of her virus.

  The driver parked next to a similar vehicle and al-Hussain got out. Irshad was there, sitting on a rock and sipping from a bottle. He rose as al-Hussain approached.

  ‘Sit,’ the Taliban commander said, flapping his hand to reinforce the order. Irshad complied, and al-Hussain took a seat next to him.

  Though it had only been a few days since they’d last met, Irshad seemed a different person. The awkward teenager was gone; replaced by a confident young man.

  ‘You’re looking well,’ al-Hussain noted. ‘How have you been feeling?’

  Irshad considered his response with a furrowed brow, as if searching for the right word.

  ‘Invincible.’

  It wasn’t what al-Hussain was expecting to hear, but a pleasing reply nonetheless. ‘Oh? Why do you say that?’

  ‘I just… I’m not scared anymore. There is another boy in my village—Aktar—and he belittles me every day. He has been doing it for many years. Mostly it is just name calling to make himself look tough in front of the other children, but when he is in a particularly bad mood he beats me. Sometimes with his fists, but mostly with a stick that he always carries around. He hits me and calls me ugly, saying I will never find a wife because I look like a goat and smell even worse.’

  ‘And you’ve never fought back?’

  ‘No,’ Irshad said. ‘He is bigger than me.’

  ‘But you’re no longer scared of him?’

  ‘No. Two days ago, as I was walking to the market, Aktar was with a group of boys. They hang around him because they are also afraid of him, but by being in his gang they are given his protection. Sometimes he makes the smaller and younger ones beat me, and if I fight back, Aktar beats me even harder. Anyway, Aktar threw a stone at my head. Normally I would have run away, but this time it was different. Instead of running, I just turned to face him. I felt… powerful. Aktar didn’t seem as big any more. In fact, he seemed to shrink with every step he took towards me. He was carrying his stick and grinning as he approached me. Not a happy grin, but one full of evil and malice.’

  When Irshad paused, al-Hussain asked what happened next.

  ‘Aktar raised the stick to hit me, but instead of cowering, I lunged for him.’ Irshad smiled as he recalled the incident. ‘I’ve never seen such a look of surprise. I hit him with my right fist, then the left, and he fell onto his back. I just remember landing on top of him and hitting him as hard as I could. I don’t know how many times I struck him, but when two adults pulled me off him, his face was a bloody mess.’

  Al-Hussain had called Irshad to the wadi to see if the boy had suffered any ill effects since being injected with the virus, but this news suggested Dagher’s creation was even better than she had described. If it could transform this weakling into a fighter, what could it do to better men?

  The Taliban had become a dwindling force in recent years. The enemy were better equipped and had air superiority which had led to many deaths on the side of the defenders. It wasn’t the number that was the issue, though. It was the quality. Men who had gained combat experience fighting for the Mujahideen against the Russians in the 80s had been in plentiful supply fifteen years earlier, but now most were gone. Instead, he had to plan attacks that would be carried out by boys who weren’t yet old enough to sprout facial hair. Now, though, there was the possibility of a Taliban renaissance. What could he achieve with a hundred like Irshad? A thousand? Ten thousand? The foreign warmongers believed they were in control, but they were about to witness a resurgence they could only have imagined in their worst nightmares.

  ‘What about your health,’ al-Hussain asked. ‘Have you noticed anything different? Headaches, anything like that?’

  ‘Nothing,’ Irshad assured him. ‘I just feel better than before.’

  Al-Hussain was elated, but tempered his excitement. It had only been a handful of days since Irshad had been infected and there was still a chance that he might develop some adverse reaction. Still, based on what he’d seen so far, he felt it appropriate to move on to the next phase of testing.

  First, though, he wanted to see if Irshad had lost any of his newfound prowess.

  ‘Time for some target practice,’ al-Hussain said. He instructed his driver to give Irshad an AK-47, then asked the boy to hit the same target.

  Irshad accepted the weapon, checked the chamber to ensure the rifle was ready to fire, then took a knee and focused on the white stone two hundred metres down range. Round after round found the mark, even with al-Hussain shouting instructions to try to put him off.

  ‘Automatic fire! Change magazine! Single shot!’

  Irshad carried out the instructions flawlessly, much to al-Hussain’s delight. To get someone to this level of competence would usually take months of training, and even then the recruit would have to have started with the proper aptitude and temperament.

  ‘You have done remarkably well, Irshad. Do you think you could do the same if it was a person standing in front of your rifle?’

  Irshad’s mood darkened. ‘My father was killed by the American scum. It would be an honor to avenge him.’

  ‘And avenge him you will,’ al-Hussain smiled. ‘Malik will take you back to the village. Gather what belongings you need and say goodbye to your mother. You are going to Quetta to train with the few elite soldiers we have left. Learn from them. Follow their lead, and you will soon get the vengeance you seek.’

  Irshad thanked him and walked to the SUV that had brought him to the wadi. Al-Hussain watched it pull away, then turned to his driver.

  ‘Make the call.’

  It would be over an hour before the next visitors arrived, so al-Hussain took a bag from his car and ate a meagre breakfast as he pondered what the future might hold.

  Dagher’s virus would make a difference, of that there was no doubt, but would it be enough to see off the coalition forces once and for all? On its own, no. To win this war, he needed men who believed in what they were fighting for, and those were in plentiful supply. The British and Americans, by comparison, had no idea why they had been sent halfway around the world to die. It certainly wasn’t about freedom, security in the region or the war on terror.

 
As Dagher had said, it was all about money.

  The Afghan president, Hamid Karzai, was nothing more than an American puppet. When the Taliban ruled the country, poppy harvests were almost zero. Anyone caught growing the plants faced immediate death; usually by decapitation. Following the arrival of the Americans, including the CIA, opium production soared. It was now estimated that ninety per cent of the world’s heroin supply originated in Afghanistan, with the US profiteering to the tune of $200bn a year.

  The opioid wasn’t the only thing that attracted the Americans to Afghanistan. Geological surveys indicated that Afghanistan was rich in several valuable minerals. Huge veins of copper, cobalt, gold and iron had been discovered, along with critical industrial materials such as lithium—essential for modern technology to exist. Conservative estimates valued the mineral reserves at over two trillion dollars.

  Al-Hussain had seen a recent online article in the New York Times that claimed the deposits were ‘previously unknown’, but he knew that to be a complete lie. The Soviets had discovered the pegmatite fields east of Kabul as early as the 1960s, which contained precious stones including rubies, emeralds, beryllium and kunzites. That was just the tip of the iceberg. Geological reports seen during the Taliban reign confirmed the presence of the precious minerals, and these had been written a couple of decades earlier by American exploration teams. The only reason they were kept out of the media was because the US needed an excuse to overthrow the Afghan government and install one that would give them cheap access to the country’s riches.

  The events of 9/11 gave them that excuse.

  Once their troops landed, Karzai was catapulted into power. He immediately began auctioning off the mining rights and while some went to China, the US was a major beneficiary. Hundreds of thousands of Afghans died so that the Americans could add to their pile.

  The sound of an approaching vehicle brought al-Hussain out of his ruminations. The SUV stopped near his own transport and six men got out, including the driver. The five passengers varied from a short stocky man to a stick figure with arms like knotted string.

  Al-Hussain was waiting for one more guest to arrive, so he had time to see what they were capable of. They were all part of his local militia, though they were far from the cream of the crop.

  A small pile of rocks had been set up a hundred paces down the wadi, and al-Hussain watched as one by one they expended their ammunition while his driver screamed instructions at them. It was vital to see how they coped under pressure. The answer was poorly. Not one of them got close to the target, which left plenty of room for improvement.

  Al-Hussain was doling out more ammunition when the car carrying Miriam Dagher pulled up. She emerged covered from head to toe in black, and this time she removed just her face veil rather than abandoning the niqab. He was pleased that she was at last respecting the religion. Dagher had obviously grown used to the heat after a week in country.

  ‘Your patients await,’ he smiled, gesturing towards five men who were inserting bullets into magazines.

  Dagher carried a medical bag over to them and checked each man’s vitals. She declared one of them to have extreme hypertension, but al-Hussain insisted she continue.

  ‘If these experiments are successful,’ he said, ‘we will soon infect every soldier we can get our hands on. I’d like to know what effect it will have on those with high blood pressure. If he reacts badly, then we will need to screen everyone in future… but if he is fine, it will save us a lot of time.’

  ‘Whatever you say.’ Dagher prepared a syringe and applied a rubber tourniquet to the first subject’s bicep. She located the vein, then injected him with the clear liquid. Once the other four were dealt with she retreated into the air-conditioned SUV.

  Al-Hussain climbed in beside her. ‘Any regrets?’ he asked.

  ‘Only that it took me so long to see America for what it really is; a slave nation ruled by unseen masters. For so long, I lived under the illusion of choice, but it was all a fabrication. They decide which crops we can grow, what food we can eat, how our children will be educated. Even elections are a sham. No matter which side wins, there’s always someone in the background pulling their strings.’

  Dagher looked down at her hands. ‘I chose to forsake Allah in search of fame and material gain. I hope he can forgive me.’

  ‘He already has,’ al-Hussain told her. ‘He gave you the gift of knowledge, and you have used it wisely. Perhaps it was his plan that you should experience the corruption in the West so that our victory will be all the sweeter.’

  ‘Perhaps,’ Dagher conceded.

  Al-Hussain asked how preparation of the virus was progressing.

  ‘A little slower than I anticipated,’ Dagher admitted. ‘If I had proper facilities I could create it a lot quicker. I have enough for about five hundred doses, but it took four days to get all the equipment I needed and to set it all up. Now that everything is in place, I should be able to create around six hundred doses a day.’

  A quick calculation and al-Hussain knew he would have enough for ten thousand recruits in just over two weeks’ time. With that kind of army at his disposal, it would level the odds considerably. The Taliban would no longer be David to the West’s Goliath. Instead, battles would be fought on an even footing. For too long, his men had gone into battle as lambs to the slaughter, but with Allah’s deliverance, they would become the wolves—the Americans would be their prey.

  But only if the virus worked its magic on the battlefield.

  ‘Let’s see if it transforms these five as it did Irshad,’ al-Hussain said as he got out of the SUV.

  The guinea pigs were waiting, and Dagher checked them over.

  ‘This one’s blood pressure is still high, but it hasn’t increased since I administered the dose. He should be fine.’

  ‘We’ll see,’ al-Hussain said.

  He put the men through their paces once more and, as with Irshad the week before, their performance was much improved. Once the test was over, al-Hussain instructed them to return to their town and not speak a word to anyone about what had happened that morning.

  ‘If I hear even the smallest rumour you will all be executed, as will your families. Do you understand?’

  All nodded solemnly.

  ‘Good. It will soon be time to show your worth on the battlefield. Inshallah, you will live to tell the tale.’

  The men returned to their vehicle and were driven away. Dagher was also in her SUV, and al-Hussain opened her door and enjoyed the cool hit of air-conditioning.

  ‘I’m grateful for your efforts so far,’ he told her. ‘There will be a field test in the next few days and if that is successful we will roll out the virus to all of our soldiers. Please ensure you have at least three thousand doses ready for transportation by the end of the week. You will be travelling for a few days, so please pack any personal belongings you need.’

  Dagher promised to meet his requirements, and al-Hussain closed the door and returned to his own vehicle.

  The journey back to his home took forty minutes and when he stepped out of the car he saw Farhad Nagi sitting at an outside table, enjoying the first apricots of the harvest.

  ‘How did it go?’ Sentinel asked as al-Hussain took a seat and inspected one of the fruits of his labour.

  ‘As well as I could have hoped for. We’ll know more once we test them under battle conditions.’

  ‘When will that be?’

  ‘Soon. I want you to tell your CIA handler that an arms shipment will be crossing the border in four days’ time. They will send out an ambush team the day before, but my men will already be waiting for them. I am sending them out this evening. You’re familiar with the pass at Jebbel al-Jabr?’

  ‘I am,’ Sentinel confirmed.

  ‘I want you to go with them. There is a cave overlooking the pass. From there you will observe the confrontation and then let me know how the men handled themselves. I’m not concerned with how many they kill; I just need to know if they
fight like true soldiers. They should be focused, disciplined. If you see any sign of panic, I want to know about it.’

  ‘I will travel to the cave today, before your men arrive. If they know that I am watching, it might influence their behaviour. It is better if they do not know that I am there.’

  ‘You are wise beyond your years, Farhad.’

  Al-Hussain called his son over and told him to prepare a bag of fruit for his guest.

  ‘The next time I see you, I hope it is with favourable news.’

  When Nagi left to pass the information to the Americans, al-Hussain allowed himself the luxury of daydreaming about the battles that lay ahead. In the next few days he would know the virus’s true potential, but even now he could feel the tide turning in his favour.

  Chapter 17

  John Balmer had just returned from PT when Captain Bridges stuck his head inside the hut and yelled his name.

  ‘Sir.’

  ‘Durden’s office, five minutes.’

  The master sergeant quickly dried the sweat from his body and threw on some fatigues before he double-timed it over to the CIA quarters. When Bridges said five minutes, it meant two.

  A new sheen had broken out on Balmer’s forehead by the time he arrived though he was relieved by the numerous fans Durden constantly had spinning. He found a spot on the edge of a breeze and flicked off a salute. Bridges returned it and told him to stand at ease.

  ‘We’ve got a job for you,’ Durden said to Balmer. ‘An arms shipment is coming over the border from Pakistan in four days’ time. I want you to take a team to intercept it.’

  ‘What are we talking? A couple of AKs on a mule, or a fleet of trucks?’

  ‘We know that it’s big,’ Durden told him, ‘but we don’t have specifics.’

  That was enough to put Balmer on edge; only weak intel could be so vague. Most of his missions had been based on credible evidence from drones or the manned surveillance aircraft that roamed the skies over Afghanistan. This must have been humint—human intelligence—which meant one of Durden’s snitches. It was this kind of intel that had led to Josh Miller’s patrol being wiped out, and Tom Gray’s team had spent many wasted nights in the wilderness chasing shadows due to poor information.