The Saffron Falcon (Transition Magic)

by Hopkins, J. E.

  The Humvee roared to life. She glanced at the water temperature gauge as she slammed the car into gear. It was in the high middle zone, drifting down.

  Hold you sonofabitches. Hold.

  She jockeyed the big car around, pointed it back the way they’d come, and slammed the accelerator to the floor.

  • • • • •

  An hour later, Stony was back on the Nag Highway and inside Pakistan, pushing the big military vehicle to 100 kph. The temperature gauge had started edging upward. She’d been driving with the air off and the windows open to minimize the engine load; now she twisted the dash control to put the heat on max.

  What the hell; might help bleed off some of the engine heat.

  She lifted her phone from the seat and checked for a signal. Two bars.

  Fucking finally!

  Agents for the DTS and CIA shared a monitoring system for emergencies, a global 911 for spooks in trouble. She punched the numbers.

  “Identification code?”

  “Bravo-Tango-two-five-niner-zero-Lima.”

  “Wait one.”

  Two seconds later, another voice picked up the call. “Your phone’s GPS location puts you in southwestern Pakistan. Can you confirm?”

  The military GPS signal from her phone would pin her location to within ten feet, but communication would be kept vague for security.

  “Affirmative. Sunday morning.” “Sunday morning” meant that she wasn’t under duress.

  “State your situation. Recording now.”

  Stony summarized her mission, the attack in Iran, Kyle’s death, and her status.

  “Wait one.”

  Her report would get her some help, if any help was to be had. And it would be sent to Nebelhorner and his boss, the director of National Intelligence.

  That’ll create a shit-storm.

  She glanced down. The temperature gauge seemed to have settled at the three-quarters point.

  The voice crackled back on her phone. “A Blackhawk has been scrambled to retrieve you and Agent Kain. Remain on your current heading until intercepted. ETA thirty eight minutes, assuming your vehicle continues at present speed. Acknowledge.”

  “Blackhawk, ETA thirty-eight minutes. Thank you. Out.”

  We must have a base somewhere near here. One of those that doesn’t exist.

  She pressed harder on the accelerator, squeezing out a little more speed.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

  Islamabad

  Islamic Republic of Pakistan

  “What do you mean, you’ve lost contact with them?”

  Since daylight, General Ahmed Pasha had been standing under a grove of trees a hundred meters away from Maya’s school. He was waiting for his handpicked team to snatch his daughter when her embassy limo dropped her off. His men were in place; the limo wasn’t due for another half hour, although Maya’s security detail sometimes shuffled the arrival times for an added layer of protection.

  His aide had just called to tell him that Major Davi’s team had failed to make a scheduled check-in.

  The aide sounded scared. “We have their GPS signal. They’re inside Iran at the contact point, but they’re ten minutes late with an update.”

  “Maybe their sat phone is on the fritz,” Pasha said. “That part of Iran is a communications black hole.”

  The aide didn’t respond.

  Yeah, I’m not sure I believe that either.

  “You talk to the Iranians?”

  Two stretch limos rolled to the front of the school and stopped.

  Shit. They always use one car. What’s with the second one?

  Pasha kept the phone pressed against his ear while he lifted his field glasses with one hand to stare at the cars. He couldn’t see anything past the tinted windows.

  “No, sir,” the aide said. “We don’t have coms with the Iranian field unit, and I didn’t want to call your contact without authorization.”

  “Their liaison guy is pretty sharp,” Pasha said. “If there was a problem, he would’ve been in touch right away. Give it a half hour, then call him if you still haven’t heard anything. And let me know what’s going on, regardless.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Pasha stuffed his phone back into his pocket just as two men got out of the lead car. They joined another guard who’d climbed out from the front passenger side of the second limo. The three gathered around the rear door of the second car.

  Dammit. They’ve never used more than one guy.

  Pasha lifted his two-way radio and banged the talk button twice. “Echo One to Green Lantern team leader.”

  The door opened and three girls got out. He thought he saw a flash of Maya’s hair, golden, like her mother’s.

  “Abort! Ab—” It was too late. His three men swarmed out of the Land Rover that had been parked across the street from the school. They rushed the limos, screaming, trying to startle the guards and make them hesitate. “On the ground! NOW!”

  Pasha watched in horror as the embassy guards drew their weapons and fired at the ISI team. The sharp crack of the semi-automatic weapons echoed off the school, punctuating the shrill screams of young girls.

  • • • • •

  Pasha fled the chaos in front of Maya’s school as the Islamabad police converged on the scene. He monitored radio transmissions as he drove back to his office at the director-general’s command center. The only thing that was clear from the chaos around the school was that multiple fatalities had occurred, including at least one of the children.

  He called his aide, briefed him quickly, and told him to be ready with an update as soon as he arrived. He was surprised by the hot churning in his belly.

  Because my daughter might have been killed?

  He shook his head. He’d known that Maya would have to die after he used her with the codex. He’d accepted that as the price of security. No, he wasn’t upset because of Maya but because the operation had failed.

  Cleaning up the mess and finding another kid is going to be a pain in the ass.

  He drove through the gates of the DG’s estate, barreling along the gravel road and past the mansion, sliding to a stop before the underground center’s entrance. His aide, waiting beside the road, opened the driver’s door on the Audi as soon as the car stopped.

  “What’ve you heard?” Pasha asked.

  “It was a bloodbath. Six dead. One of the kids, all three of our men, and two of the bodyguards. The other two bodyguards are critical. One—”

  “Maya?”

  His aide hesitated. “I’m sorry. She was the kid that was killed.”

  The heat in Pasha’s stomach flared.

  Not as tough as you thought you were, huh?

  The idea pissed him off.

  “Why in the hell were there two limos and so many guards? They’ve never used that many before.”

  “The press is saying that the ambassador was uncomfortable with security arrangements for his daughter. He added a second car and bumped the number of guards.”

  “Fucking brilliant,” Pasha said. “He was worried about security for Maya, so he put all the kids in one place.”

  He caught his breath and mentally ran through a mantra, trying to calm himself. “The DG know what happened?”

  “Yessir. He’s waiting for you.”

  “I’m sure he is. Like a trap waits for a bear.”

  Pasha started to walk into the building, but his aide stopped him. “Wait, there’s more, and I don’t think we should talk inside.”

  Pasha stopped and turned back. “What more could there possibly be?”

  “We heard from the Iranian liaison. Not much in the way of detail, but the intercept didn’t go down as planned. Apparently the Iranian team cut and ran when shooting broke out. One of their men was killed.”

  Shit. I completely forgot about Davi.

  “Our team?”

  “Uncertain. Some of them killed for sure.”

  Pasha felt like he might collapse onto the sun-baked gravel. “And
the two Americans?”

  “Don’t know. The GPS tracker for one of the Humvees shows that it’s back inside Pakistan, heading toward Khuzdar. The Iranians have ordered their men back to the rendezvous site to find out what happened.”

  “How long before they report?”

  “At least an hour before we hear anything.”

  “Do whatever you have to, but get a chopper out there to intercept that Humvee.”

  “That’ll take a couple of—” The aide stopped when he saw the expression on Pasha’s face. “Yessir.”

  Pasha straightened his shoulders. “Go tell the DG that I’ll be with him in ten minutes. He’ll be pissed. Deal with it, and buy me some time to think.”

  • • • • •

  Pasha strode to Director-General Tulpur’s private office only to be turned away by one of the DG’s assistants.

  “He’s not here, sir. The director-general asked that you join him in his other office, at your convenience.”

  I’m no longer welcome in his personal cubby? A suspicious man would be worried.

  Pasha retraced his steps and entered the labyrinth of offices populated by gatekeepers designed to fend off the riffraff. The second secretary informed him that the director-general had urgent business and invited Pasha to sit until the DG was available. Fifteen minutes later Pasha was allowed into the inner sanctum.

  DG Tulpur looked up as Pasha entered and pointed to one of the chairs facing his massive desk.

  Will I still have a command when this meeting is over?

  He felt an unaccustomed shiver of fear.

  Or my life?

  Tulpur stared at Pasha for several seconds. “Well?”

  Pasha had delayed the meeting to give himself a little time to come up with some sort of spin on the current mess. But as he mentally rehearsed different approaches, it occurred to him that all the DG ever heard was excuses designed to deflect blame. He’d wondered how the man would handle the blunt truth and decided to find out. He’d either remain in control or be carried out of the ornate office in a body bag.

  “The last couple of days have been a fucking mess. My backup plan to snatch a kid to use with the codex went to hell. And I still don’t know for sure what happened in Iran, but it’s entirely possible one or both of the Americans survived. We have to assume the Americans know, or will soon know, that we set them up.”

  DG Tulpur’s eyes narrowed.

  “But none of this changes the central facts. We have a copy of the codex. My staff are securing a translator who can replace Rahman. And Rahman is being brought here from Abpara jail. There’s nothing more he can tell us, but I’ll squeeze him one more time, then have him shot.”

  “What does the Kalash boy—Tareef, right? What does he know?”

  “Nothing. He’s an ignorant tribal kid, a loose end.”

  He knows everything, you idiot. Rahman loves him like his own son. No way he didn’t teach him the codex.

  “I don’t like loose ends,” Pasha said. “So, I want him found and eliminated. I’ve confirmed his home village, and it’s only a matter of time before we find him.”

  “How do we test the codex?”

  “We’ll steal another kid, but it’ll take some time to find one in Transition and convince him to cooperate.”

  “And the Americans?” The DG’s voice provided no hint of what he was thinking.

  “Fuck them. They don’t know any more than they did before their agents touched down in Islamabad. They’ll be pissed about the betrayal in the desert, but there’s nothing they can do about it if they still want our help against Al-Qaeda. And they do. So fuck them.”

  Pasha sat back and waited to learn if his gamble had worked. His heart pounded and a bead of sweat popped out on his upper lip, betraying his anxiety.

  The DG stared across his desk and fiddled with his gold Mont Blanc pen, pulling the lid off with a soft pop and snapping it back on. A minute passed. Then he nodded, rose, walked around his desk, and pointed Pasha toward the small round table in the corner of the room. They sat facing each other.

  DG Tulpur leaned forward. “Do you remember when I first called you here? I told you to play the hand you’d dealt yourself. You’ve come perilously close to losing that hand. Yet you’ve somehow managed to contain a disintegrating situation and protect our interests. So you get to play for a bit longer.” He leaned back in his chair.

  “Yes, sir. Thank you.” Pasha hated himself for groveling but couldn’t keep the words from slipping past his lips.

  “Rahman and the kid are loose ends,” the DG said. “I’ll feel better when they’re both are dead.”

  “After I’ve dealt with Rahman, I’ll send a covert action detail to the Birir Valley, find the boy’s home, and destroy it. With him in it, if we’re lucky. If not, we’ll kill him where we find him.”

  “Don’t just send a team,” the DG said. “That approach hasn’t worked. I want you personally to lead the unit, and I want you in that valley in the next forty-eight hours.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Pasha noticed that his hands were trembling.

  From relief.

  He rested them on his thighs, under the table, away from the DG’s unblinking stare.

  I am still in command.

  “And not just his home,” the DG said. “

  “Sir?”

  “Destroy every home in that valley within a kilometer of the kid’s. I want to send a message to those so-called descendants of Alexander the Great. If they defy us, they die.”

  62 CE

  CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

  Guiyang

  The Han Empire

  Cài Lún left the house, wandering in the night inside the stone wall surrounding the estate. He tried to imagine what it would be like to be castrated. The idea terrified him. His mind slid sideways, refusing to think about the blood and pain, settling instead on his concern for his father.

  He wandered around the loop formed by the wall and settled on the grass next to the fountain in front of the main house. He stretched out on the ground and stared up at the ropes of dark clouds sweeping past the moon. A fine mist from the fountain settled over him, carried by the gusting wind. He got up and moved to the other side of the fountain, only to have the wind change direction and shower him again. He sighed and stayed where he was.

  A storm is coming.

  He’d always liked storms. The wind and clouds and curtains of rain were exciting, and the world smelled new after a storm passed. But Lún had never experienced a storm inside his home, one that could change his life. He didn’t like that feeling at all.

  I want to be a scholar, and scholars are trained to offer wise counsel. How would I advise my father if the emperor says he must be castrated? Submit, or leave the court?

  Lún was surprised at how easy the answer came to him.

  Ba Ba grew up in a big family. And he’s an honored member of the Imperial Court. I’ve heard him talk about both. But I only hear his heart when he talks about his family. If he must, he should leave the court.

  Lún shivered. The chills had nothing to do with the fountain’s mist and the swirling wind.

  And he should pray that the emperor does not take offense.

  Lún forced his thoughts back to himself and castration.

  As far back as I can remember, I’ve wanted to be part of the court. Thinking about castration makes me feel like vomiting, but that’s because I’m a boy and weak. Losing my manhood doesn’t change what I want most.

  He heard the slap of sandals on the path outside the wall and sat up. A boy not much older than Lún hurried into the courtyard, slowed, and straightened his clothing. The gate lanterns threw enough light for Lún to spot a rolled piece of silk clutched in the runner’s left hand. The boy nodded at Lún, strode to the front door, and pulled the braided rope that hung by the frame. Lún’s mother came to the door and beckoned the courier inside. She gazed out at Lún for several seconds before she turned and disappeared.

 
; Lún wanted to go inside and hear the message, but he remained in the courtyard. His father would call him if his presence was wanted. The runner left about a half hour after he arrived, still carrying the rolled silk. Lún stayed by the fountain, torturing himself with his imagination about a knife slicing his scrotum, until a lashing rain chased him inside the dark house. He went to his room and lay down on his pallet, staring into the featureless dark until the morning’s first light.

  • • • • •

  Lún rose early, dressed, and hurried to the family dining room. He wanted to talk with his father before he left for the Imperial Court. His mother was leaving the room as Lún arrived.

  “Your father is having spiced chicken and fried rice. Would you like to eat with him?”

  “I’m not hungry, Ma Ma.”

  She looked like she wanted to say something else but nodded and walked away.

  Does she know about the court decree and the courier’s message?

  Court decrees and Imperial messages weren’t the business of women, but his father was more liberal than many of his friend’s fathers.

  He strode into the room and bowed low. “My apologies for disturbing you, Ba Ba. May I talk with you?”

  “Of course, Lún. I was going to wake you before I left.” He nodded for Lún to be seated across the table.

  Lún kneeled and stared at his father, trying to read his face. “May I ask—”

  “The emperor, in his divine wisdom, has decided that all court scholars must be eunuchs. Current scholars have two days to communicate their compliance or leave the court.”

  Lún’s heart sank.

  “But the emperor has also decided that, if I so choose, I may leave his Imperial service with his blessing.”

  “What does it mean to have his blessing?”

  “Our family name would continue to be honored as befitting a scholar. And I would be permitted to keep the estate and a monthly stipend for as long as I live.”

  “And after your death?”

  His father shrugged. “Our name would be stricken from the rolls, the property would be returned to the Court, and the stipend would end.”

  “So our family would be thrown out of our home?”