Black Ops Heroes of Afghanistan

by Eric Meyer

  * * *

  At first, the two men stared at each other in silence. Their hostility was like a thick, choking fog in the deserted bar of Ma Kelly's. Then Blum glanced down at his hand. "Looks like your luck ran out, Rafe."

  Archer growled, but Greg silenced him with a word, and he lay down on the soft rug.

  Stoner's expression didn't change. "It's just a nick. I've done worse shaving."

  "No doubt. How're things?"

  Stoner gestured at the plush furnishings. "They've been worse. What's it to you?"

  He shrugged. "Just making conversation."

  "Is that right? Are you finished now? I'm real busy."

  "I'm not finished. I need help."

  "Why should I help you?" Then his expression did change, and he looked startled, "Christ, tell me it's not about Faria!"

  The Russian nodded. "We may have a problem."

  He explained about them converting from Islam to Christianity, and the American winced. "They'll kill you for that if they find out."

  "Yes. We kept it a secret, but I think they could be getting close. There's this Imam in Mehtar Lam. Sheik Habib Daud."

  Stoner nodded. "Daud, yeah, I've heard of him. He's related to half the drug traffickers and warlords around here. He's also a cousin of Massoud, you know, the big-time drug trafficker. Say, that kid who came in here, he wanted me to go into Massoud's place and bring out the man who killed his father. I may as well pick up a pistol and put the barrel to my head."

  "So Daud and Massoud, they're all one big happy family," Greg said, his voice bitter, "That explains a lot. You think Daud may be dirty?"

  "Oh, yeah, he takes a cut, like most people in this pisspot of a country. The Imams and Mullahs are no exception."

  Blum nodded. "I guess so. I need your help, Rafe. I need you to help me take out Habib Daud before he comes after Faria."

  Stoner raised his eyebrows. "Kill Sheikh Daud? Jesus Christ, you're not asking much. If they found out, the whole country would go up in flames. A senior Imam, I can hardly believe you're suggesting it."

  "The alternative is he'll fire up his fanatics to come gunning for me and Faria. I can take care of myself, but she'd be an easy hit."

  The other man's expression darkened. "I'd see him in hell if he laid a hand on her."

  "You still have feelings for her."

  "That was a long time ago, but she was a good friend. You're a lucky man, Greg. She chose you. I should have killed you."

  "You could have tried. Maybe I'd have killed you."

  The American shook his head. "No, I would have killed you." His voice was calm, considered. A man who could measure a target like a tailor could measure a bolt of cloth. "I know you think you're some kind of a sniper with that old Dragunov, but you wouldn't have seen me coming." He waved away with a sweep of his hand, "Besides, that's not what I do. I only work for money. You still in the same line of business?"

  "Only when it's justified, a local family whose daughter has been raped or murdered and they want justice."

  "Does it pay well?"

  "No. Why, you thinking about muscling in on my operation?"

  Stoner winced. "I can manage without that kind of penny ante stuff. So I guess you have a real problem."

  "When Daud's thugs come gunning for Faria, yeah."

  "Right." His eyes narrowed in thought, and Greg waited, "You know that kid, Ahmed, he wanted me to bring in Sardar Khan, Daud's cousin. Khan is with Massoud."

  "The Torgan Valley."

  "Yep. Massoud has a fifty thousand dollar bounty on his head."

  Blum whistled. "Fifty thousand dollars! That's a lot of money."

  "If you live to spend it. Then again, if someone did go in, took out Massoud and clipped this Khan guy on the way through, it'd be a worthwhile payday. If there were also some evidence linking Massoud to Daud, yeah it'd be a righteous kill. Imam or no, the associate of a known drug trafficker and murderer dies, who'd give a shit? Everyone's happy, even that kid whose father got killed, and I have fifty thousand dollars in the bank."

  "You couldn't do on your own. I'll come with you," Greg said.

  Stoner stared back at him. "It didn't work out between us last time. Besides, I work on my own, and never with fucking amateurs. Especially Russians."

  He ignored the barb. "You'll bite off more than you can chew if you go up against Massoud's people on your own. I know you're good, Rafe, but not that good. Remember, you're getting older. We're all getting older. Go in there without help, and you'll never come out. Do you really want to die?"

  Stoner didn't reply. What's to live for, pal?

  Greg gave a pointed look at the bandage covering the wound on his hand. He unconsciously tucked it down at his side as he thought about the proposition. He decided the Russian might have a point. May. Massoud was a psycho, with a reputation for employing psychotic killers, men with military experience. Finally, he nodded.

  "Okay, it's your funeral. We split the money eighty-twenty. I'd be doing you a favor, Greg. It's more than you deserve. You'd still come out with ten thousand dollars."

  "The split is fifty-fifty."

  Stoner snorted. "Fuck you."

  Greg could go screw himself as far as he was concerned; he found it hard to forgive the past. Neither could he forget. Faria was still deep inside his soul.

  "Make the split sixty-forty and we have a deal."

  Then again it could help her stay alive. He held out his hand.

  "Deal." Each man spat on his palm, and they shook hands. "What about weapons, what're you carrying? Just the rifle?"

  The Russian swept a hand under his coat and brought out a heavy Stechkin 9mm. "The Dragunov is in the jeep."

  "Is it still any good? I thought the Soviets left it behind in a pawnshop in Kabul?"

  "In your dreams. The Dragunov is a modern sniper rifle. It's an SVD-63. I use it for my work."

  "Can you shoot straight?"

  "Better than you."

  Stoner's eyes widened. "Yob tvoyu mat, Russian asshole."

  "Fuck your mother, too, American cocksucker. You still carrying those cannons?"

  He nodded. "I don't feel dressed without them, but we'll need more. If we're heading into bandit country, I'll pack a couple of extra rifles. I have an M4-A1 I'm fond of, and a Benelli combat shotgun, she's a semi-auto 12 gauge."

  "It's not much going up against Massoud," Greg pointed out, "We could do with something heavy, like grenades."

  "I have a bag of M61 frag grenades looking for a good home."

  "Like Massoud's ass, yeah, they could be useful. So it's a go?"

  The other man nodded. "It's a go."

  "When do we leave?"

  "We'll wait for the execution and slip away while they're watching. Fucking ghouls. I'll take my Wrangler. Tell me you weren't thinking of using that piece of shit Russian jeep?"

  Greg curbed his irritation. He could take the insults. He needed Stoner. "It's a good vehicle."

  "Yeah, right. I'll find a space around back for you to lock it away. Out on the street, it'd be stripped bare inside of twenty-four hours."

  "What about communications? There're no cell towers where we're going."

  Stoner dug into his pocket and pulled out a phone that looked new. "The latest Iridium satphone. I never go anywhere without it."

  "Neat. So we head out while they're watching that guy die."

  "That's the plan. I don't want people to get the wrong idea, like sending a message to Massoud and his pals we've left town. He may just wonder why, especially with fifty big ones on his head."

  "Like we're going out there to kill him?"

  "Something like that."

  "Okay, I'll go get the GAZ. First, I need to make sure Ahmed goes back to the farm."