The Saffron Falcon (Transition Magic)

by Hopkins, J. E.

  Murree

  Islamic Republic of Pakistan

  “How long does it take to get to Murree?” Tareef asked.

  “I’ve not driven it before,” Ali said. “According to my map, it’s only sixty kilometers. But the road gets twisty as we start climbing into the mountains. I’d guess an hour.”

  They’d been driving through the rising desert for about a quarter of an hour. When Tareef first climbed into the cab, he’d sat silent, staring out the front window at the dim yellow headlights that spread over the highway. Ali had peppered him with questions, but he’d ignored them, preoccupied with thoughts of the ISI and his overwhelming desire to go home.

  His attention shifted from the uncertain future to his immediate worries.

  If I make it to the Chitral mountains, General Pasha will never find me.

  He glanced at Ali. “Thank you.”

  “Your professor pays well. And I’ve always wanted to see Murree. Lots of people go there to get away from the heat.”

  “Did Professor Rahman tell you that helping me is dangerous?”

  Ali laughed. “I didn’t think you woke up in the middle of the night and decided you wanted to go sight-seeing.”

  Tareef looked at the books piled between them and glanced into the back seat. His backpack lay on the floor behind Ali. More books were scattered on the seat, along with an unfamiliar pack. It was big, with a long aluminum frame and external pockets stuffed with water bottles. Two bedrolls were tied below the frame.

  “You have even more books in your car than when you drove us to Abpara jail,” Tareef said.

  “Ayiee. Because of that trip, I was late for my mathematics exam. The professor was very angry and assigned double the material for the makeup. I thought I might have time to study a bit while we take this drive.”

  “When is your test?”

  Ali laughed again. “Late tomorrow afternoon. No, that’s not right. It’s tomorrow already. I mean this afternoon. I’ll drop you off somewhere in Murree and have plenty of time to get back to the university.”

  Maybe I carry a demon inside me. My father. The Professor. Ali. Since I’ve been in this city, anyone I touch is harmed in some way or worse.

  An image popped into his head, and he smiled to himself.

  Except the witch running the boarding house in Islamabad where Papa and I stayed. She’s too mean to let a demon disturb her.

  “Please forgive my impoliteness,” Ali said, “but why are you fleeing in the middle of the night?”

  Tareef hesitated. “Someone threatened to kill me.”

  “For real? Who? What did the police say?”

  “It’s an ISI general who wants me dead.”

  Ali whistled and was quiet for several long minutes. “Which means the police and army are hunting you. How does a country boy make such enemies? Why are they after you?”

  Tareef shook his head. “I might be putting you in danger if I told you.”

  They rode in silence for several minutes. “I think helping you has already done that,” Ali said.

  They’ll torture him until he tells them what he knows. Then they’ll kill him.

  “I’m sorry, Ali. I didn’t know the professor had called you. I would’ve stopped him, I promise I would’ve.” Tareef paused, took a deep breath and let it out slowly, then told Ali about the translation.

  The road descended from a narrow ridge, and Ali slowed and left National Highway 75. “This is Musiari Link Road. It’s the only way into Murree from the South.”

  Tareef stuck his head out the window and looked up at the mountain that rose before them. The early morning light revealed dirt roads that cut narrow paths to huge solitary houses. Ali navigated the sharp turns and switchbacks with care. The air coming in through the windows was cooler and smelled of pine.

  “When I first met you, I told you to call me if you needed help,” Ali said. “This isn’t what I had in mind, but I can’t turn back now even if I wanted to. Which I don’t.”

  Tears spilled from Tareef’s eyes, and his voice fell to a soft whisper. “You could be no better friend to me than if we were blood. You have the soul of a Kalash, even if your eyes are dark.”

  Ali cleared his throat and laughed. “So, we’re agreed. We must not get caught. And I’m not the one who sticks out around here, you with your light curly hair and those lavender beacons that sing danger.” He glanced at Tareef. “You know someone in Murree who can help you, right? That’s why we’re going there?”

  Tareef frowned and shook his head. “I don’t know anyone outside my home valley, except the professor. Maybe he picked it because it’s close. I’m going home. I’ll find a ride north in Murree. If I can’t find a ride, I’ll walk.”

  Three- and four-story homes appeared like spring mushrooms, crowding the road. Oncoming headlights washed over them, the first traffic they’d seen since they left the city.

  Tareef scrunched down in the seat as the car sped past them, going down the mountain. As soon as it passed, Ali’s cab was washed in a red and blue glow. Tareef stuck his head up over the seat and looked through the back window.

  “Ali! It’s a police car!”

  Ali looked in his rear mirror. “They’re turning, coming back this way!”

  He slammed on the gas, screeched around two curves on the wrong side of the road, and slid through a sharp right turn into a crowded neighborhood. He drove a hundred meters, then turned left; another dozen meters and turned right.

  Tareef looked out the back for any signs of pursuit. At first he thought they’d gotten away, then the glow from the police car’s beacons reflected off the sides of the houses. “There still behind us. Don’t seem to be moving very fast.”

  “Fast enough,” Ali said. “I’ve got to find a place to hide the car or we’re done for.” He drove out of the residential neighborhood and into a rundown commercial district.

  “Murree is too small,” Ali hissed. “There aren’t enough streets.”

  The lights behind them grew brighter. The police weren’t using their sirens and Tareef could hear the song of crickets through the cab’s open windows. He thought back to his walk in the desert, where it had seemed the crickets had warned him of danger.

  Halfway through an intersection, Tareef caught a brief glimpse of an old, run-down building to their left.

  “Stop! Go left! Go down there!” He jabbed his arm in front of Ali, pointing and waving at the side street.

  Ali slammed on his brakes, spun the steering wheel, and turned the car to follow Tareef’s outstretched arm.

  Ali drove up to an old petrol station, dark and apparently abandoned.

  “Let me out and drive around back,” Tareef said. “There’s gotta be a door. I’ll open it for you.”

  Ali slid to a stop, and Tareef leaped clear of the car. He stumbled, yelped in pain, and clambered to his feet. Razor-edged gravel and pieces of glass covered his knees. He ignored the pain and ran behind the building.

  He found an entrance big enough for cars and trucks, but a half-closed, rusting roll-down garage door blocked entry. Tareef positioned himself under the door on his tiptoes and stretched up to shove it out of the way. He was too short.

  The cab rounded the corner and slid to a stop. Ali stuck his head out the window. “Get back!”

  Tareef moved out of the way, and Ali pulled the nose of the car under the door.

  “Ali, it won’t fit!”

  Ali jumped out of the car. “I know. Get up on the hood!”

  The sound of the police car’s engines reverberated around them.

  The two scrambled onto the hood and wrapped their hands around the bottom edge of the door.

  “On three,” Ali said. “One, two, three!”

  Tareef pulled with all his strength and was surprised when the door glided up without a sound. He fell backwards on his butt and rolled off the hood onto the ground.

  Ali jumped off the hood, leaped into the cab, and drove it into the garage.

  Tar
eef ran inside, found a rope hanging from side of the door, yanked on it, and sealed them inside.

  • • • • •

  Tareef felt like he’d gone blind when the door closed. Panting, scared, he bent over and picked the gravel and glass from his knees, then stood and stared into the murk. The air was thick with dirt, diesel, and motor oil. A sliver of light from a distant streetlamp leaked through a window that faced the petrol pumps. Nine small panes of grimy glass—three across, three down—sat in a frame next to a front entrance door.

  Tareef was standing near the back of the cab and couldn’t see past the hood. He stuck his arms out in front of him and shuffled toward the front of the building, feeling his way toward the sliver of light, expecting any second to smack into something that would slice his shins or poke him in the eye. He sighed with relief when his hands encountered the corroded slab of the front door. He twisted the handle.

  “It’s locked.”

  “Good,” Ali whispered, “but the garage door will open to anyone who gives it a shove. Come over here and help me hold—”

  Pulsing red and blue lights invaded the dim interior, cutting off Ali’s words the same as if he’d been knocked unconscious.

  Tareef peeked around the edge of the window to see the blurred shape of a police car glide up to the front of the station and stop. He heard the sound of a car door opening and watched as a hulking black shape separated from the car and moved toward the window. He jerked his head back and pressed against the block wall. He wanted to hiss a warning at Ali but was afraid any sound would give them away.

  Footsteps crunched on the gravel outside the window. The weak yellow glow from a flashlight tried to penetrate the gloom but was defeated by the dirt on the windows.

  Tareef heard the soft squeal of skin on glass. “I can’t see shit in there.” The man’s voice was loud and as rough as the rusted surface of the front door.

  “Just break the glass. We don’t have time for this. They’ll have our ass if we lose them.”

  A sharp bang on the window made Tareef jump and scared his heart from his chest into this throat.

  “It’s not glass, it’s fucking plastic.” The man hit the window again.

  “Just forget it. They’re getting away while you’re standing there playing with yourself.”

  “Screw you.”

  Long seconds later, Tareef heard the engine rev and the car pull away. He didn’t move, fearing a trick.

  He’d just started to relax when a firm hand grabbed his shoulder, almost making him wet himself. Ali whispered into his ear, “It’s me. Let’s just stay put for a while.”

  Tareef lost track of time as they huddled together on the dirt floor of the garage. He thought about his father and wondered if he’d ever see home again.

  • • • • •

  After what seemed like hours, they’d gotten up from the floor and lifted the rollup door a couple of inches to let in a little early morning light. They climbed up on the hood of the car beside each other and leaned against the windshield.

  “The police know what my cab looks like,” Ali said. “We have to leave it.”

  They’ll find him. He’s in danger because of me.

  “I’ll find a road north and get help from farmers,” Tareef said. “How will you get back to Islamabad? A bus?”

  Ali didn’t answer.

  “You think you can come back and get the cab in a few days?” Tareef asked.

  “No. If the ISI and the police know what the cab looks like, they know me, too. Maybe the professor talked.”

  Tareef didn’t want to think about what the police did to Rahman, but Ali was right. “They must have tortured him. He’s probably dead now.”

  “Yeah. If I go back, they’ll do that to me. So, I’ll go with you. I’ve always wanted to see the northern territory.”

  “Forgive me for saying so, Ali, but my path will be hard, and you’re a city person. You must have family or someone who can help you.”

  “If I went back, I’d put my family at risk. And what makes you think I’m not tough enough to keep up with a scrawny mountain kid? At least I brought a suitable pack with me.”

  Tareef laughed softly. “The Kalash don’t use big packs, my friend. They’re a burden.”

  “And that thin jacket the professor gave you will keep you warm? These mountains of yours must not be that tough.” Before Tareef could respond, Ali slipped from the hood, walked back to the trunk, and opened it. “Come look.”

  Tareef slid down and walked to the back. Two dark-green down coats lay beside a frame pack that was similar to the one in the back seat, only smaller.

  “Professor Rahman asked me to bring a coat for you and some camping gear. I decided to bring enough for both of us.”

  “He called you in the middle of the night? Where did you get all—”

  “Easy,” Ali said. “I live in a dormitory with thirty other guys. Many of them like to hike and camp. I took what I thought we’d need and be able to carry.”

  Tareef reached down, lifted the smaller of the two coats, and put it on. He’d never owned a thing of such luxury.” Ashraf Rahman was my brother.” He looked at Ali. “Now I’m blessed again, with another brother.”

  Ali poked him in the shoulder. “Who says I want to be your brother? Trouble follows you like a puppy with big, sharp teeth.” He paused and wiped his eyes.

  “We’ll go north together,” Tareef said.

  • • • • •

  They’d spent the afternoon dozing and eating some of the canned food that Ali had brought with him. Tareef had explained that the cans weighed too much to carry for any distance. After they’d eaten, they used Ali’s maps to find a side road out of Murree that avoided the main highway.

  They left the garage as the sun settled on the edge of the surrounding mountains and hiked west half a kilometer through residential neighborhoods. At Bank Road they turned and began the long journey north.

  They planned to hike five kilometers, then either camp or cut across a connector back to the highway and see if they could catch a ride for the night. It was one of only two roads north.

  They encountered several other hikers, all headed into Murree for the night, and passed several luxury hotels tucked into the hills above the road. Within a half hour, they’d left the town behind and were alone. The muscles in Tareef’s neck and shoulders relaxed for the first time since he’d left Rahman’s house.

  Tall pines marched along both sides of the road, their tops glowing in the last light. Narrow layers of clouds reached across the sky, the sun behind them painting the dusk a deep gold.

  A keening shriek cut through the air in front of them. Tareef jerked his head up, trying to find the source. Again the cry echoed through the twilight.

  Where is—there!

  “Ali, look!” He pointed north, above the trees to a soaring bird. “It’s a falcon. I’ve not seen one since I left home.”

  The trees were in shadow, but the sunlight glittered off the bird above, lighting it on fire, a glorious bronze one moment, then orange-red, then a steady glow the color of saffron. The falcon soared and looped and slipped out of sight.

  The crickets in the desert protected me. The falcon will do the same in the mountains. He will lead me home.

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  Pakistan-Iran Border Road

  Islamic Republic of Iran

  Stony jogged to the Humvee that had been closest to the Iranian soldiers, popped the hood, climbed up on the bumper, and checked the radiator. Fluid ran from a half dozen bullet holes.

  No good.

  She turned and ran to the trailing Humvee that had carried Kyle and repeated the inspection. A single hole about the size of her thumb was punched through the radiator, bleeding blue liquid onto the desert floor.

  A clean in-and-out wound.

  She pulled her knife from her pocket, cut two pieces of cloth from the tail of her polo shirt, and jammed the pieces into the hole. The leaks slowed to a drip. S
he twisted the cap off the radiator and peered inside. The liquid level was down several inches and the reservoir bottle next to the radiator was empty.

  I’ve got no fucking clue how much pressure radiators are under when the engine is running. Gotta be enough to blow a piece of cloth out of a bullet hole.

  She jumped down and rushed to the cab, looking for something that would work better than the wadded-up pieces of her shirt. All she found were neatly stacked boxes of military gear and crumpled candy wrappers.

  Dammit, dammit, dammit. I gotta get out of here.

  The sun’s white glare pounded on the Humvee.

  Maybe…

  Her lips cracked from a wide grin.

  Wouldn’t that be ironic?

  Stony hopped down from the cab and ran to the rear of the vehicle, yanking open the door. Two ammo boxes were pushed up against the back of the rear seat. She popped the clasps on the lid of the top case, looked inside, and shook her head.

  Too small.

  She dragged the top box out of the way and opened the one under it.

  Larger caliber.

  She pried two bullets free from their clip and hustled back to the radiator, where she eyeballed the shell diameter against the size of the hole.

  The casings are a little bigger. Perfect.

  She pulled the cloth from the hole in the front of the radiator, wrapped it around the bullet, and pressed the tip back into the hole. She held her breath and tapped the slug with the butt of her Sig for a tight fit.

  Would suck if I shot myself banging on a bullet.

  Nothing exploded. She breathed. Nothing leaked.

  She did the same for the hole on the backside, then poured the bottled water into the empty radiator reservoir.

  Go. Go. Go.

  She slammed the hood shut, jumped down, and ran over to Kyle’s body. Two of the iridescent green flies swarming around his chest landed on her face, crawling into her eyes. She ignored them and wrestled Kyle’s body back to the Humvee and up into the back seat.

  Huffing from the exertion and soaked with sweat, she settled into the driver’s seat. The key had been left in the ignition. She grabbed it, held her breath, and twisted. The engine block had looked okay, but—